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PREFACE. 


** Con O' Regan'' is not new to the Irish Catholics, at least, of 
the New World. It appeared first in the American Celt, a week- 
ly paper, conducted by my friend, Hon. T. D. McGee, in this 
city, and was recently re-published in the columns of the New 
York Tablet. The “ plain unvarnished tale” which “ blots the 
leaves” of this volume was meant to point a moral that is well 
wormy the attention of Irish emigrants to these western shores 
of the Atlantic. It was written in connection with a movement 
which it is pleasant even to remember — the Buffalo Convention, 
one of the best-conceived plans ever brought before the 
American-Irish for the permanent advantage of theii newly- 
arrived compatriots: a plan which, if it had been generally 
adopted and carried out, might have been of incalculable bene- 
fit to many thousands of the Irish race, by removing them from 
the overcrowded cities of our Atlantic seaboard to the safer, 
calmer, and more healthful pursuits of agricultural life, whether 
on the smiling prairies of the West, or by the great waters of 
the North. But although the Buffalo Convention, for want of 
public encouragement, failed in doing what it was meant to do 
for Irish emigrants, a day may come when its wise provisions 


iv 


'’REFACE 


will be eagerly adopted to meet the wants of the multitudes 
who are hurrying all too fast from the Old Land which we all 
love, but which many of us, alas ! shall see never more. Should 
that day come, it will be well for the old race in America, but 
should it not come, and should posterity forever ignore the no- 
ble effort that was once made to turn the tide of emigration into 
a safe and saving channel, I desire here to place on record, once 
for all, the high-souled generosity, the noble disinterestedness, 
and the entire devotedness of the hundred gentlemen, some of 
them ecclesiastics, venerable in years and in high repute for 
wisdom and virtue, all of them more or less distinguished, who 
met, some eight years ago, in the border city of Buffalo, on the 
confines of British America, to deliberate on the best means of 
promoting the permanent interests of Irish emigrants to the 
New World. If the Convention did not do all the good they 
hoped and expected from it, the fault, assuredly, was not theira, 


CON O’REGAN; 

OR, 

EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


CHAPTER 1. 

One cold, bleak morning, in the fall of 1844, a 
young woman timidly approached the fateful half- 
door in the Post Office of a Hew England city. 

“ Have you e’er a letter, if you please, sir, for 
Winny O’Regan ?” 

“ Ho, my good girl, nothing for you to-day.” 
And the dry, official response of the Post Office clerk 
was unconsciously changed to a softer tone, for the 
speaker was an Irish Protestant, and he did feel, at 
times, more sympathy than people would imagine, 
for the quiet, civil-spoken emigrants who daily and 
hourly addressed him in home-accents, anxiously 
seeking news from hie own land. Besides, he had 
noticed this same Winny O’Regan almost every day 
for the last fortnight, asking, but in vain, the sane 


6 


CON O^RFGAN ; OR, 


question, and his brief negative was everyday chroni- 
cled in deeper sadness on her pale, care-worn fea- 
tures. There was something touching, too, in 
Winny’s appearance when one came to examine her 
closely. She was a tall, thin girl, of some three or 
four-aiid-twenty years, with a soft dark eye and a 
pensive cast of countenance. Sorrow had evidently 
chilled the warm glow of youth in Winny’s tempera- 
ment, and chastened her down to the sedate gravity 
of more mature years. Her dark hair was smoothly 
and carefully arranged on either side of her high, 
pale brow, taking something from its breadth, which 
would otherwise have been remarkable. Her hands 
were small and well-formed, though much discolored 
and intersected in every direction by those unseemly 
hcLcks in the skin which denote labor of the hardest 
kind. It was late in the fall, and yet Winny was 
Bcantly clothed, and looked, on the whole, rather 
woe-begone. All this the clerk had noticed, and 
somehow, with all her apparent poverty, it struck 
him that the girl had seen better days. She seemed 
so anxious, moreover, about the letter from Ireland, 
that it went to the young man’s heart, for he, too, 
was, at times, eagerly expectant of “news from 
home,” where he had left an aged mother and two 
young sisters close by “ pastoral Bann,” in the ver- 
dant holmes of Dowm. But he had no time to ques- 
tion Winny, for scores of others were demanding 
his attention in the quick, authoritative style pecu- 
liar to bustling, self-important Yankees. So Mai- 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. T 

colmson was fain to put the sad-looking Irish girl 
out of his head, and with her the white cottage 
on the sweet Ban-side which the sight of her wist- 
ful face had somehow conjured up. 

As for Winny O’Regan, she turned away with a 
sickening sense of despondency, and a tear found 
its way unhidden to her eye, as, gathering her 
woollen shawl around her, she retraced her steps 
towards her present dwelling — home it was not. 
All at once she was reminded by the basket on her 
arm that she had to go to market. Having turned 
down a side-street which was her nearest way to 
the market, she was hurrying on with a rapid pace, 
intending to make up for the few minutes she had 
lost, but was suddenly brought to a dead pause by 
the apparition of a young man in a gray frieze coat 
and corduroy breeches, who, starting out of a shop- 
door, accosted her with — 

“ Winny ! Winny O’Regan ! is this yourself ? 
Can’t you take time to speak to a body ?” 

Dropping the basket from her arm, Winny took 
hold of the stranger with both hands, and looked 
into his frank, love-breathing face, with eyes full of 
joyful tears, her color changing and her lip quiver- 
ing. As soon as she could speak, she exclaimed in 
smothered accents — 

“ The Lord be praised, Con dear ! Is it yourself 
that’s in it ? I was beginnin’ to be afeard that some- 
thing had happened you. Oh ! sure, sure, but I’m 
glad to see you ! An’ how did you leave all at 


8 CON o’regan ; or, 

home? How are Biddy and the children, an’— 
an’ — ” her voice trembled, “ an’ my poor mother ? 
Con, darlin’ ! how are they all? and did you get my 
last letter ?” 

“ If I didn’t how would I be here, you foolish 
girl ?” said Con, trying hard to keep in his tears, 
although half forgetting where he was in his joy at 
finding VVinny. “An’ sure they’re all well an’ 
hearty at home, barrin’ — ” he stopped, looked hard 
at Winny, and then bit his lip, as though deter- 
mined at all hazards to keep in what was just com- 
ing out. 

“ Barrin’ who. Con ?’’ inquired his sister, anx- 
iously. 

“ Oh ! Mary Malone — my uncle J ohn’s Mary. She 
died last May was a year, of decline.” 

“ The Lord be good to her soul !” said Winny, 
with deep feeling, “ an’ so she’s gone at last. Poor 
Mary ! well, thank God, it’s no one else, for some- 
how it was my mother I was thinkin’ of. IIow does 
she look, Con ? Is age beginnin’ to show on her?” 

“Well, no!” said Con, with a sort of hesitation 
that Winny could not well account for ; “ the last 
time I saw her, Winny, she looked as young, ay 1 
an’ younger than she did the day you left home.” 
That was true enough, for the widowed mother was 
then laid out in her brown habit, a fair and “ comely 
corpse,” as the neighbors all declared. The sorrows 
of long years had vanished at the moment of death, 
and a smile of ineffable joy rested on the thin, pals 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


lips, announcing that the weary had at length found 
rest. But it would never do to tell Winny all at 
once that the mother she so loved was cold in the 
clay. At least so Con thought, and Con was right, 
for such tidings would have broken Winny’s faith- 
ful heart, had they come upon her without due pre- 
paration. 

“ But where do you live, Winny dear ?” said Con, 

I forgot the name of the street that you mentioned 
ill your letter, an’ I just went into this shop here 
abroad to look over the letter again, when, as good 
luck would have it, I was standin’ near the door, 
an’ seen you passin’ by.” 

“ I’m sorry I haven’t a place of my own to take 
you to, Con,” said Winny, sadly, “ but if you’ll just 
step down with me to the market (for I’m in a great 
hurry). I’ll leave you at Paul Bergen’s on my way 
back. You remember Paul, don’t you ?’ 

“ Is it Paul Bergen ?” cried Con, with sudden 
animation ; “ why, then, to be sure I do, Winny, an’ 
rinlit fflad I’ll be to see him. How is he doin’ out 
here ?” 

“ Only middling, Con, only just middling,” said 
Winny, as they walked quickly along side by side. 
“ He might be better than he is, if he wasn’t so 
fond of the drop, He has a long family, an’ his 
wife’s health is none of the best. She’s wearin’ 
away fast, poor woman !” 

There was a short silence, during which Con’s 
meditations seemed rather of a sombre character. 


10 


CON O^REGAN ; OR, 


At last he said, as if pursuing the same train of 
thought, “ An’ yourself, Winny dear ? — how do you 
make out?” The words were not much in them- 
selves, but the glance that accompanied them 
touched Winny’s heart, for it said as plain as could 
be : “ You are not so well off as I expected to find 
you.” 

Winny’s eyes filled with tears, but she tried to 
answer cheerfully : “ How could I send so much 
money home if 1 wasn’t doin’ well ? You mustn’t 
mind my clothes, Con, for you know I’m about my 
business now. Wait till Sunday, and you’ll see 
how fine I’ll be.” 

But Con’s eyes were fixed on her gloveless hands, 
and bis cheek reddened as he said : “ I see its not at 
the dressmaking you are, after all ; your poor hands 
are redder and coar&er than they used to be ; an’ 
your face, too, is paler and thinner — oh, Winny, 
Winny ! I’m afeard you earned that money you sent 
us harder than we thought.” There was a guttural 
sound in his voice, as if something choked his utter- 
ance, and the light faded from his full blue eye. ' He 
was moved even to tears, but he dared not weep 
where so many cold, strange eyes were upon him. 
Winny saw her brother’s emotion, and somehow it 
was very soothing to her heart, so long unused to 
home sympathies. 

‘‘Ho matter how it was earned,” said she briskly, 
“ it just went the road it ought to go. What do I 
Want with money only to make you all comfortabl®? 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 11 

i wasn’t long here till I found that I could earn 
more at housework, as they call it, than I could at 
sewing, so it was all one to me, you know.” 

They had by this time reached the market, and 
Con was so lost in wonder at the novelty of the 
sight, that all other thoughts were suspended for 
the time being. He used to think the shambles in 
his market-town at home presented a magnificent 
display of meat, but what was it to this? Surely 
there could never be people found to buy half that 
meat. Winny laughed, and said he would soon 
change his mind when he had lived a few years, or 
even months, in a city like that. 

Winny having made the necessary purchases, 
made the best of her way home, stopping at Paul 
Bergen’s, to introduce her brother. Paul had latterly 
taken up his abode in a cellar some eight or ten feet 
under ground. The damp was oozing out through 
the floor, and the place had a cold, cheerless look, 
for although there was a stove right in the middle 
of the floor, opposite the bedroom door, it seemed 
to send forth but little heat. Round it were gathered 
three young children, crouching on the boards, while 
in front sat a pale, sickly-looking woman, wrapped 
in a faded plaid shawl, nursing an infant as pale 
and ghastly as herself. The cold seemed to have 
seized on the poor mother’s heart, for ever and anon 
she trembled like an aspen, and leaned forward 
towards where warmth ought to be, but, unhappily, 
was not. Alas! for poor Nora Bergen — pale and 


12 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


cold, and poverty-stricken as she sat there, she had 
been once the envy of many a maiden, and the pride 
of many a loving heart. Nora Bergen had been for 
years the rustic belle of ‘'a country side,” and though 
it was hard to recognize any trace of beauty in the 
squalid misery of her present appearance, there were 
still certain lineaments that marked her identity, 
otherwise doubtful. 

Con could hardly believe his eyes that the figure 
before him was an old acquaintance; but conviction 
forced itself upon him, however reluctantly, when 
he heard Winny say : 

“Good morning Mrs. Bergen; how do you feel 
to-day, ma’am?” 

“ Why, not much better, Winny ; I have the 
chills very bad on me the day, an’ we have hardly a 
spark of fire, you see, for Paul was to send home 
some coal to us before goin’ to his work, an’ I think 
he must have forgot all about it. But who is this 
you have with you?” 

“Ah, then, don’t you know him, Mrs. Bergen, 
dear? — sure isn’t it our Con, all the way from Bal- 
lymullen ; why I thought you’d know him if you 
met him in Africa, let alone here.” 

“ Why, the Lord bless me. Con O’Regan, is it 
you that’s in it ? Come over here an’ give me your 
hand, for I’m not able to stand up off o’ my seat. 
Sure enough, I heard you were cornin’ out, but 
somehow I was in hopes you wouldn’t. Ah, then, 
Con, I wish you had stayed at home. I’m glad to 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


13 


see you, an’ I'm sorry to see you. But, my good- 
ness, Winny, isn’t it all like a drame? — oh! oh! 
but it’s the weary, weary world. But won’t you 
sit down, Winny ? — run, children, an’ get a couple 
of chairs !” 

Thus she ran on, endeavoring to hide her confu- 
sion under a show of cheerful animation that made it 
still more conspicuous. Winny had barely time to 
commend her brother to Mrs. Bergen’s hospitality 
for the present, and then hurried away, leaving that 
poor woman much distressed in mind on account of 
her inability to entertain Con O’Regan as her kind 
heart would wish. Calling to her a little boy of 
some six or seven years, the eldest of those who 
were lounging round the stove, she whispered to 
him to try if there wasn’t e’er a bit of coal or any- 
thing to make a fire. Off went the little bright- 
faced fellow diving into a sort of hole in the wall, 
and, after some search, he was so fortunate as to 
find a little coal, which he proceeded to put in the 
stove, his mother’s face assuming a more cheetful 
expression as she saw it beginning to burn. 

“Now, Patsey, my son, since you have done so 
well, will you just put some water in the kettle and 
set it on the fire till we make a cup of tea for Con 
O’Regan ?” 

Con protested that he had no need of anything, 
but he might as well have kept silent, for Mrs. 
Bergen was only sorry she had nothing better to 


14 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

offer him, but sure a warm cup of tea would do him 
no harm that cold raw morning. 

wonder what’s keeping Jane, children,” said 
the mother ; “ I told her not to stay on any account.” 
Just as she spoke, the door opened, and down the 
steps came a little girl about twelve years old, with 
a pretty, intelligent-looking face, but poorly and 
meanly clad. 

“Well, Jane, did you see your father?” was the 
first question. 

“ I did, mother, but he wouldn’t go ; he said we 
had coal enough till the evening.” And then she 
whispered something to her mother, who blushed 
deeply, and said, “ Husht ! husht !” 

The little girl was then introduced as Mrs. Ber- 
gen’s eldest daughter, and having taken a bashful, 
stealthy look at the stranger from Ireland, she set 
about getting the tea, which she did in a neat, tidy 
way, that showed her well accustomed to such little 
offices. Whilst the simple repast was in prepara- 
tion, Mrs. Bergen kept asking a thousand questions 
about places and persons long unseen, but never to 
be forgotten. JMemory was busy with the poor heart- 
broken woman, and the present was all but forgotten 
in the bright reminiscences of the past. Con all 
the time observing her with painful interest. Pre- 
sently there came a loud knock to the door, and Mrs. 
Bergen’s faint “ come in,” was followed by the ap- 
pearance of a tall young man, in a round jacket and 
a low-crowned tarpaulin hat, such as sailors are wont 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


15 


to wear. His face was flushed with an unnatural 
glow, and there was a swaggering, blustering air 
about him which was anything but prepossessing. 

Mrs. Bergen seemed in no haste to greet the new- 
comer, but the children all gathered around him as 
he coolly took possession of a chair with the air of 
one who is determined to make himself at home. 
The presence of our friend Con was quickly noticed 
by this personage, who, after leisurely surveying the 
stranger, squirted a mouthful of tobacco-spittle over 
the floor, and turning to Mrs. Bergen who had only 
noticed his entrance by a silent nod, asked who the 
greenhorn might be. 

“ Why, that’s Con O’Regan from our place at 
home. I thought you knew him, Tom, but sure it’s 
hard for you to remember anything now.” 

“ Con O’Regan, from Ballymullen 1” repeated the 
young man ; “ the deuce it is ! Give me your hand. 
Con, and let me have a proper look at you. Why, 
sure enough, you do look something like a little 
fellow of that name that used to go to school to 
old Yinegar-face.” 

“ You mean Master O'Connor, I suppose,” said 
Con, with a heightened color. 

“ To be sure I do, the old rascal ! who else should 
I mean ? And so you’re little Con O’Regan — that 
was,” he added, as he took in at a glance the sinewy 
though slender proportions of the other. “By 
jingo ! I’m confounded glad to see you. And what 
news from the old sod ?” 


16 


CON O^REGAN ; OR, 


Nothing worth speaking of,” said Con, very 
coolly, for he was by no means taken with his new 
companion ; “ may I make so free as to ask who you 
are, now that you know who I am ?” 

“ All right, old fellow. It seems you don’t keep 
spite, or you’d remember Tom Derragh 

The glow deepened on Con’s face, for he had 
been gradually calling forth from the storehouse of 
memory certain disagreeable reminiscences of his 
schooldays, in which this same Tom Derragh had 
borne a prominent part. He had been the bully of 
the school, and poor Con being much younger than 
he, had often suffered from his arbitrary and op- 
pressive sway. Yet in those early days Tom had 
not been without some good traits, and with all 
his faults he had many friends. Observing Con’s 
change of countenance, Tom burst into a loud 
laugh, and slapping him on the shoulder, bade him 
forget and forgive. 

“ Don’t you know what old Father Ilalligan used 
to say; eh, Con?” another slap on the shoulder. 
“ Is the old fellow living or dead — which ? He was 
a great hand at talking, and used to come it over us 
slick. By George, I used to tliink him a great man 
all out! Ha! ha' ha! weren’t we green in those 
days, Con?” 

“It respect for Father Ilalligan, or any other priest, 
made us green, as you call it, I’m just as green st ill,” 
said Con O’Regan, “ and I tell you plainly, Tom 
Derragh, that I won’t sit by and hear you, or any 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD IT 

one else, making little of them that ought to be re- 
spected.” 

“ There now,” said Tom, turning to Mrs. Bergen, 
with another of his coarse laughs, “ they’re all so 
touchy about religion when they come out first. 
There’s my hand on it. Con, I didn’t mean any harm. 
I was just like you in that respect when I came here, 
but I soon got over my pettishness, and so will you, 
by japers !” 

“ With the help of God, I never will,” replied Con, 
firmly; “ I hope I’ll never see the day when I'll for- 
get the respect due the clargy.” 

“ Well ! well ! never mind,” cried Tom ; “ let’s see 
if we can’t make it up.” Then thrusting his hand 
into his breeches pocket, he drew out the solitary 
coin which still remained after his last night’s revel, 
and calling to him little Patsey Bergen, he told him 
to fetch a half pint of brandy or gin — he didn’t care 
which. 

“ If it’s for me you mean the treat, Tom,” observed 
Con, as, arresting the boy in his progress towards 
the door, and taking the money from him, he gave 
it back to Tom, “you may spare yourself the trouble 
of sendin’ out. I thank you all the same, but I’m a 
eetotaller.” 

“ The deuce you are,” cried Tom, with real vexa- 
tion ; “ and so you’ll not take anything ?” 

“ N’othing of that kind, Tom. Mrs. Bergen is 
gettin’ some tea made, an’ I’ll take a cup of it, with 
all the pleasure in life.” Mrs. Bergen could not do 


18 


CON O^REGAN J 05, 

less than ask Tom to have a cup of the tea which 
•Fane just then placed on a small table near her 
mother. But Tom said he wouldn’t give a fig for 
all the tea in America, and pulling out his pipe, pre- 
pared for a smoke, while Con partook of Mrs. Ber- 
gen’s humble fare, which she offered with many apolo- 
gies for not having better. 

Meanwhile, Tom sat leaning back in his chair, with 
his long legs stretched to the utmost, and his stolid 
eyes fixed on vacancy, as he puffed out volume after 
volume of dense smoke, which gradually enveloped 
him as in a cloud. Ever and anon he would put 
some question to Con, relating to sundry individuals 
whom he had known “ in the old country,” his voice 
issuing ever from the midst of the cloud, in a way 
that made Con smile. At last. Con tired of being 
catechized, and thought it was time to turn the ta- 
bles ; so setting down his cup and saucer with a pre- 
liminary “ hem !” he began to examine the evidence. 

You have fine easy times of it here, Tom. You 
seem to bo a sort of a walkin’ gentleman. I suppose 
you have your fortune made long ago. They say 
fortunes are not hard to make here.” 

This leading observation elicited a scoflang laugh 
from out the cloud, and a heavy sigh from the pale 
hostess, who was endeavoring to hush her infant to 
repose with a mournful croon. 

“ I hope you’ll find it easier to make a fortune 
than most folks do,” said Tom, still laughing. “ As 
for me, you know I always scorned to tell a lie, and 


EMIGRANT UFE IN THE NEW WOKI.D. 19 

ni not begin now, for you’d soon find out the 
truth ; I ha’nt got one shilling between me and 
death but that same two shilling piece that you 
sent back to keep the old boy out of my pocket.” 

“And how do you manage to live at all ?” in- 
quired Con, in downright amazement. “ Why, I 
thought you must be well off by this time.” 

“ IIo ! ho ! how do I manage ! why I help to un- 
load ships and such like jobs, down at the wharf. I 
earn plenty of money, old fellow; but it goes as 
fast as I make it. There are a jolly set of fellows, 
all free-and-easy like myself, and we stand to each 
other like bricks. As we make we spend, and we 
hardly ever know the want of a shilling, for when 
one’s locker is empty, another’s is full, and the rich 
pay the reckoning for the poor till luck turns again. 
That’s the way we live, and if you have nothing 
better in view, you may come and take a hand with 
us ; there’s no scarcity of work.” 

“Many thanks to you,” said Con, very com- 
posedly, “ but that sort of life w^ouldn’t answer me 
at all. I have a wife and two little ones at home in 
Ireland, and I’ll have to keep every penny I can 
make together till I send for them. I’m in hopes 
that Winny will be able to find out some employ- 
ment for me.” 

“ God mark you with grace, Con,” said Mrs. Ber- 
gen, suddenly raising her head ; “ while you keep to 
them notions you’ll be sure to do well. Och ! och ! 
if Paul Bergen had only shunned bad company, and 


20 


CON O^REGAN ; OR, 


kept his earnings together, it’s not as we are we’d 
be now, for he made a power o’ money. Con, one 
way an’ another since he came here. But God’s 
will be done ! I suppose this was all before me, or 
I wouldn’t have it to go through.” 

Before any one could reply, the door again opened 
and Paul Bergen made his appearance. He was a 
stout, coarse-featured, broad-shouldered man, with 
a regular “ brandy-face,” and a thick head of light- 
colored hair, approaching to red. Yet Paul had 
been once a good-looking, rollicking fellow, a favor- 
ite with all the girls, because of his off-handed bear- 
ing, backed by never-failing good humor. Con re- 
membered him well before he left Ireland, and a deep 
sigh escaped from him as he looked on the sottish, 
ungainly figure that hard living had made him. 

Paul’s first salutation was to Tom Derragh, of 
whom he affectionately inquired “ Where the mischief 
he had got such a face ?” 

‘‘ I guess I got it where you got yours, my hearty,” 
returned the rough ’longshoreman, with his usual 
horse-laugh. “ What happened you that you weren’t 
at the raflle at Pat Finnerty’s last night ?” 

“I couldn’t be in two places at once, coaid I?” 
was the quick rejoinder. “There was a dance at 
Bill Dempsey’s, here abroad, and Bdl would never 
forgive me if I didn’t go. But, I say, Nora,” to his 
wife, “who have we here?” — turning hi*s eye for the 
first time on our friend Con, w ho began by this 
time to wish himself safe back in BallymuUea. 


EMIGRANT UFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 21 

“It’s a’most time for you to ask, Paul,'* said 
Nora, reproachfully. She then proceeded to intro- 
duce Con, and to do Paul justice, he was right glad 
to see him. 

“You're heartily welcome here. Con,” said Paul, 
taking a seat near him, and slipping some money to 
one of the children, which was, however, noticed by 
Nora, who called out with more animation than 
usual : 

“ Never mind the drink, !Paul, for Con O’Regan 
wouldn’t touch a drop of it; send for some meat, 
though, till we get the dinner. It won’t take long 
to cook.” 

The money was given as freely as though Paul 
had a pocketful of that valuable commodity, and 
then he asked where was Peter? Now Peter was 
the eldest son of the family, being next to Jane, 
and his father was not a little proud of Peter’s 
good looks, which he inherited from his mother. 
The boy was clever, too, and could take up “ the 
learning,” whether right or wrong, as fast as any 
boy of his age. 

“ Did Con O’Regan see Peter yet ?” demanded 
the father. 

“No, indeed, then, Paul, he did not. I haven’t 
seen a sight of Peter myself since he got his break- 
fast with you this morning. He’s on the streets, as 
usual, God look to him and them that has the rearin’ 
of him ! Oh Con, dear, it’s an awful place this k* 
bring up children in — it is, indeed !” 


22 CON O-REGAN ; OR, 

“ Hold your foolish tongue, woman,” said her hus* 
band, angrily, “ and put that squalling brat to sleep. 
Stir yourselves and get us some dinner, and don’t be 
botherin’ us with your groans and your moans. Have 
you seen Winny since you came, Con ?’* 

Con answered in the affirmative, whereupon Tom 
grinned a dubious smile. “ Winny’s one of the 
saints, I’m thinking. Con. She’s as modest as a nun, 
and wouldn’t look a fellow in the face on any ac- 
count. They say she’s gathering money fast ; is it 
true. Con ?” 

The subject was by no means pleasing to Con, 
who gave an evasive answer, and then put some 
question to Paul relating to some other acquaint- 
ances of theirs who had emigrated during the pre- 
vious year. Paul gave a history of each person, as 
far as he knew, with occasional episodes from Tom, 
which were in general anything but satisfactory. 
By this time Jane had some ham and eggs on the 
table, with some bread and potatoes, and Paul 
would not consent to eat a morsel, unless both Tom 
and Con would “ sit over and have share of what 
was going on.” In vain did Con declare that he 
had just been eating and drinking — Paul cut him 
short with : 

“Don’t be botherin’ us now with your excuses. 
I suppose you think the victuals are so Stinted that 
you’ll leave somebody short. But you needn’t fear,” 
he added bitterly ; “ there’s more in it than we’ll all 
eat. To be sure things are not so plentiful here as 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


23 


we all remember them in the farmers’ houses about 
Ballymullen ; we haven’t the big fat pots of bacon 
and cabbage, — or broth that a spoon would stand in ; 
no, nor the fine baskets of laughing potatoes that 
would do a man’s heart good to look at them ; but 
what there is, you’re welcome to, and so, if you 
don’t want to insult me, you’ll just sit over at oust 
an’ fall to.” 

So Con was obliged to give in, for fear of hurting 
the sensitive feelings of poor Paul, whose sense of 
hospitality was just as strong as though he lived in 
a palace, and had sumptuous fare to offer. Poor 
Paul Bergen ! had he never left the shelter of his 
father’s humble cabin, or, leaving it, had he fallen 
into a more genial track west of the Atlantic, he 
might have lived a happier and more useful life in 
the exercise of those old home-virtues which make 
the peasant’s cot in Ireland a palace of content. 

Nora could not be prevailed upon to taste a morsel 
(fearful, perhaps, of leaving the strangers short); 
she had taken a cup of tea, she said, and that was 
dinner enough for her. 

After dinner, Paul hurried off to his work, charg- 
ing Con not to stir from where he was till he should 
come back, and promising Nora to send the coal 
immediately, which he punctually did. Tom went 
out with him, to Nora’s evident displeasure, but 
she did not dare to make any objection. 


24 


COK O^REGAN : OR. 


€IIAPTER 11. 

The long hours of the afternoon passed heavily 
away, Con fearing to lose his way if he ventured out, 
although Mrs. Bergen offered to send Patsey with 
him, “ and I’ll go bail you’ll not go astray while you’ll 
have him with you,” said the fond mother, “ for 
though he’s not six years old till next Christmas, 
there’s hardly a corner round here but what he 
knows. Indeed, they all know the corners too well,” 
she added, mournfully, “ for they’re on the street 
most o’ their time. Only the weather is against 
them to-day, we wouldn’t have so many o’ them in 
the house. I do what I can to keep them in, but 
they go in spite o’ me when they take the notion.” 

“ It’s too bad,” observed Con, “ too bad, altogether. 
Why, if them chaps were in Ireland, their fathers or 
mothers would break every bone in their body sooner 
than let them run on the streets.” 

“ Ila ! ha !” cried Patsey from his station behind 
the stove, “ then I’m real glad I wasn’t born in Ire- 
land. Boys a’nt treated so here. There a’nt any 
whipping allowed here, you know, and I often heard 
boys say that if Irish Paddies had their way they’d 
give their children awful usage. There now, Jim,’ 


EMIGIIANT L.FE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


25 


to his little brother, “ do you hear that ? If wc were 
in Ireland, they’d break our bones if we didn’t do 
just as they’d want us to.” 

“Hold your tongue, Patsey,” said his mother, 
“ you mustn’t talk so; you don't know what you’re 
saying.” 

“ Yes, but I do, though,” returned the precocious 
juvenile; “I’ve got ears, hain’tl? and I heard what 
the man said. I wish any body would try to break 
my bones, I do !” and he assumed such a threatening 
attitude that Con could not help laughing heartily, 
notwithstanding his unqualified disgust. 

“ Well, after that, Mrs. Bergen,” said he, while the 
mother made sundry attempts to coerce the boy into 
silent subjection, “ after that, ma’am, I’ll wonder at 
nothing. If I saw the big Church or Meetin’-house 
there abroad left siltin’ on its head in the middle of 
the street, it wouldn’t give me the least surprise after 
that. Now, just answer me one question, Mrs. 
Bergen! — is there anything wrong with that child’s 
head?” 

“ Not that I know of.” 

“And is that the way that children talk up to their 
parents here ?” 

“Well, sometimes,” said Mrs. Bergen, blushing as 
she spoke. “ There’s little respect here for parents ; 
that’s a fact. Con, and I declare to you there are 
times when I’d give the world to be dead and buried, 
out of the bearin’ and seein* of my own and other 
people’s children. Och I och ! if we were only a 


2G 


CON o’regan ; OB, 

thousand miles away from this unlucky plase, in 
some town or country where we could bring up our 
children in the fear and love of God, as children are 
brought up in poor old Ireland, and where Paul 
would be away from the bad company and the cursed 
taverns, I think I could die with a joyful heart. 
But no, no, no’’ — and at every word her voice sank 
lower and lower till it reached a hoarse whisper — 
“ no, no, we’re bound hand and foot ; we haven’t the 
means now to go anywhere, and God look down on 
us this sorrowful day !” 

Con hardly knew what to say, and yet he wished 
to administer consolation to that breaking heart. 
But stranger as he was, and utterly ignorant of Paul 
Bergen’s affairs, how could he pretend to hold out 
hopes ? Whilst these thoughts were passing through 
his mind, a light tap came to the door, and the next 
moment a soft arm was round his neck, and the gen- 
tle voice of Winny spoke at his side. 

“Don’t be frightened. Con, it’s only me. I’m 
here far sooner than I expected, for when the mas- 
ter come to his dinner, I told him about you, and 
he said he just wanted a stout, active man, for a 
porter at the present time, and that he would give 
you a trial. So you see God is good to us — as he 
always is,” she added, feelingly. “ Come, Con, take 
your hat and we’ll go right oft' to the store.” 

‘ The store, Winny, what is that ?” 

“Oh I I forgot,” said Winny, with a smile, “ that 
they were all sJwjps at home. But there’s no such 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


21 


thing as shops here, Con, except where men work at 
their trades ; it’s stores they call the shops. And 
how have you been since I saw you, Mrs. Bergen 
added Winny, as she slipped half a dollar into little 
Jim’s hand;” I had hardly time to say a word this 
morning when I was here. How is the pain in the 
side 

“ Very little better, Winny, many thanks to you 
for the asking. You don’t come to see us very 
often, though, — but, indeed, it’s hard to expect a 
decent, quiet girl like you to go where you’ 11 meet 
such indiiferent company as Paul brings here. So I 
don’t blame you, Winny dear, for I know your heart 
is good, and I’d be sorry to see you put yourself in 
harm’s way on my account. And your brother’s a 
credit to you, Winny, long may he be so !” 

Winny hastily shook hands with Mrs. Bergen, and 
left the house in silence, fearful to let her see how 
deeply she felt for her situation. Con and she 
walked on for some time without a word on either 
side, till at length Winny started, as if awaking 
from a trance, and asked her brother with a smile 
how he liked America, as far as he had seen it ? 

“ To tell you the truth, Winny, dear, I don’t like 
it at all. If that’s the way men live here, the sooner 
I’m home again in Ballymullen, it’ll be all the better 
for me. Paul Bergen and Tom Derragh have given 
me enough of America 1” 

“ Hut, tut. Con ! don’t be foolish,” said Winny, 
laughing; “you’ll see plenty of our own country 


28 


con o’regan j or, 

peopK here living as well as heart could wish. Paul 
Bergen and Tom Derragh are bad specimens, sure 
enough, but don’t let them frighten you out of your 
senses.” 

“ But what evil spirit gets into them,” persisted 
Con, “ tliat they can’t keep from tippling, an’ them 
left home to make the better of it in a strange 
country ? Just look at that decent w^oman of Paul 
Bergen’s, sittiu’ there perishiu’ with cold half of her 
lime, and lookin’ the picture of starvation, an’ him- 
self with a face as red as a turkey’s head. And 
such a fine family as they have of clean, likely chil- 
dren — but sure they’re a-rearing up for the devil — 
God forgive me for sayin’ so ! And then, Tom Der- 
ragh — to see a fine able young man like him with- 
out a shilling hardly to jingle on a tombstone, after 
being ten years in America 1” 

“Well, well. Con, never mind,” said his sister, 
coaxingly, “ you and I will have a dilferent story to 
tell a few years hence, with the help of God ! I’ve 
a thousand questions to ask you, but we haven’t 
time now, for here’s Mr. Coulter’s store. Now 
mind your p^s and q's, Con, — the master is a very 
good sort of a man, if he finds people to his liking. 
He’ll be at you at first about your religion, but 
never mind him, his bark is worse than his bite. 
Just keep your temper, and let him talk away, after 
a while he’ll get tired of it, when he sees he can 
make nothing of you, and he’ll think all the more of 
you in the end for being steadfast in your own re- 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 29 

ligion. He’s a real, good-hearted man at bottom, 
though he does seem a little rough at times. Come 
in now, in God’s name, and hold up your head like 
a man. Don’t be down-hearted, Con dear, for 
there’s no fear but you’ll do well.” 

“ God send it, Winny !” said her brother, in a low 
voice, as Winny stopped him at the door to ar- 
range the collar of his coat and brush the back of 
it down with her hand. Having glanced rapidly 
1 over his costume to see that all was right, she nod- 
ded approvingly, a id in they went. 

Mr. Coulter was behind his desk in the office 
tached to his wholesale warehouse, but on Winny’s 
entrance with her brother, he came forward, with 
his hands in his pockets, and a pair of gold-mounted 
spectacles thrown up on his forehead. 

“ So this is your brother, Winny ?” said the old 
gentleman, fixing a keen and practised eye on our 
friend Con. 

“ Yes, sir, this is my brother, and if you can find 
anything for him to do, both him and I will be very 
thankful. Being a stranger here, he might be some 
time before he’d get a situation, and that wouldn’t 
answer him at all.” 

“ Hump ! his funds are rather low, I presume !” 
Mr. Coulter never guessed. He had been educated 
in England, and had a great contempt for all ver- 
nacular corruptions of his mother tongue. Another 
look at Con, who stood with his hat in his hand 
waiting for any direct address to himself. 


so 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

“ You're only just come out, young man !” said the 
merchant at length. 

“Just landed yesterday, sir.’’ 

“ You seem a fine hearty young fellow. What 
can you do ?” 

“ Farming, sir, was what I was best used to, but 
I’m afeard there’s little of that to be done here, so 
I’m willing to try my hand at anything else.” 

“ So far good, and what about religion ?” — this 
was said with a kind of smile that might be inter- 
preted in various ways — “ 1 suppose you’re a Papist, 
are you?” 

“ I’m a Catholic, sir.” 

“ I thought as much. Humph !” Here another 
pause, during which Mr. Coulter put his hands be- 
hind his back, and walked a few paces to and fro. 
Con ventured to break silence with : 

“ But sure, sir, that has nothing to do with my 
work. If you’ll give me a trial I hope you’ll not 
have reason to be dissatisfied, for I’ll do my best, 
and we have a saying, sir, where I come from, that 
best can do no more.” 

“ Yes, but I do not like to have Catholics in my 
employment, — you needn’t smile, Winny, you know 
I speak the truth, although yow’ve been in my family 
so many years — the fact is, young man, I have part- 
ners here who will hardly believe that Irishmen, and 
especially Irish Papists, can be trusted to any ex- 
tent. Whether their views are correct is not the 
question, but these gentlemen keep me in h(;t water 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


31 


while ever there is one of you about the concern. 
They always see your faults through magnifying 
glasses, and are slow to acknowledge your merits, 
i Now, although I am the head of the house, I like a 
precious sight better to have things go on quietly 
I than to be continually exercising my authority in 
the firm. I hate contentions, young man — what’a 
your name — O’Kegan, of course 

“ Yes, sir, Con O’Regan,” with a low bow. 

“Well, Con, are you willing to run the risk of 
pleasing my partners ? for myself, although I am a 
cross old fellow at times, I am willing to treat peo- 
ple just as they deserve, without much regard to 
their creed or country. But if you come here, I 
warn you in time what you have to expect. If you 
leave yourself open in any way to censure, I am sure 
to be blamed for having taken it upon me to employ 
an Irish Papist.” 

“ Well, sir, I can only say, as I said before, that 
I’ll do my best, and if I don’t give satisfaction to 
the other gentlemen, you can send me off at a day’s 
warning, for, God knows, I wouldn’t be the cause 
of any dissension — no, not for a mint of money.” 

The old gentleman rubbed his hands briskly, 
smiled and nodded to Winny, as much as to say : 
“ He’ll pass muster, Winny — I know he will !” then 
took his station once more behind the desk, and 
told Con he might come to the store next morning, 
if he chose. 

“ I will then, sir, and thank you kindly. I don’t 


32 CON o’regan ; os, 

want to lose one day, if God leaves me my 
health.” 

“Very well, Con, we’ll begin with six dollars a 
week, and .you’ll make yourself generally useful at 
any branch of the business.” 

“ Anything — anything you please, sir — God bless 
you, sir !” 

“ I say, Winny,” said Mr. Coulter, calling afier 
them to the door, “you’ll just take your brother 
home and give him a comfortable supper. And, do 
you hear, Winny, see that he don’t take up his lodg- 
ing in any of those vile, low places, where he would 
be sure to meet with bad company. Take him to 
some quiet, decent boarding-house.” 

“ I will, sir, thank you,” said Winny, unable to 
say more in the fulness of her gratitude. 

“ Long life to your honor,” cried Con, as they 
bowed themselves out; “may you never know the 
want of a friend — an’ please God you never will ! 
Why, Winny,” said he, when they had Reached the 
street, “ that’s a mighty fine old gentleman — not the 
least cross I” 

“ Oh, well, he seems to have taken a liking to 
you, Con, thanks be to God for that same, bul, at 
any rate, he’s very friendly and good-natured. The 
mistress is not quite so good as he is, but you’ll 
have nothing to do with her. So much the better 
for you.” 

“ But, Winny, what fine wages he’s giving me 1” 
eaid Con, pursuing the train of his own pleasant 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORI-D. 


83 


thoughts. “ Why, I’ll be able to send for Biddy 
and the children in less than no time.” 

“ Not so soon as you think, Con,” said Winny, 
with a smile full of affection, “ it will take you a 
good while to put as much together as will bring 
them all out. But, after all, with industry and good 
management, the time will soon come round. Hush, 
now, here’s the house.” They went in by the area 
door, which Winny opened with a latch-key. After 
I lighting the fire and setting on the tea-kettle, she 
I went up to tell her mistress that Mr. Coulter had 
sent lier brother home with her to get his supper. 
While she was gone. Con sat looking around at the 
neat, comfortable kitchen with feelings of admira- 
tion not unmixed with simple curiosity, for there 
I were many things there whose use was a mystery 
' to him. 

Mrs. Coulter was mightily pleased to hear of the 
safe arrival of Winny’s brother, and graciously sig- 
nified her intention to go down and see him forth- 
with. This was a piece of condescension which 
poor Winny could well have excused at that par- 
ticular time, when her heart was full, and longed to 
pour itself out to that beloved brother so long un- 
seen. But, of course, this was kept in the back- 
ground, and Winny thanked her mistress. That 
lady was not slow in accomplishing her benevolent 
intention. Down she sailed to the lower regions, 

! and appeared before the visual orbs of Con 


84 


CON o’kegan ; OR, 


O’Regan, slim, and tall, and stately, and looking as 
like mummy as living woman might. 

Con rose and greeted the lady with his best bow, 
and then remained standing until Mrs. Coulter 
politely requested him to be seated, she herself tak- 
ing her stand in front of the brightly-polished 
stove, through the grate of which a clear coal fire 
was seen sending up its flame to the bottom of the 
kettle aforesaid. Winny went to work at once to 
make some hot rolls for tea. 

“And so you’ve engaged with Mr. Coulter, Con, 
(for such, I find, is your name) ?” 

“Yes, ma’am, I'm proud to say I have.” 

“ Well, now, I hope you’ll try and keep your 
situation. It is a very rare thing, indeed, for Irish- 
men to do well here, and on Winny’s account, I 
should like you to do well. Winny is a good girl, 
although she is Irish. And now let me give you a 
piece of advice. My husband, Mr. Coulter, is a very 
good sort of man — in his own way — but you will 
sometimes find him-rough and hot-tempered. Poor 
man ! he means well, I believe, but he is not 
blessed with vital religion — that explains all, you 
see.” 

It did nut explain it to Con’s satisfaction, inasmuch 
as he had never heard of such a thing as vital reli- 
gion, but he continued to listen attentively in hopes 
of some more tangible explanation of what the good 
lady was driving at. 

“ This hint may serve you in good stead,” went on 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


35 


Mrs. Coulter, “seeing that ‘a word to the wise is 
sufficient for them,’ but, alas ! I fear the language of 
Holy Writ is new to your ears, coming from poor 
benighted Ireland. However, you will endeavor not 
to arouse the old unsubdued Adam in my poor hus- 
band’s nature by any thoughtless or unseemly con- 
duct. And now that I am admonishing you as a 
friend, I would advise you to lay aside those shaggy 
garments of yours, and provide yourself with clothes 
more becoming a civilized land. Frieze and cordu- 
roy are unfortunately associated with Popery in the 
minds of Christian people, and as your outw^ard man 
is, even so will you be judged. Winny, how soon 
will supper be ready ?” 

“ In about half an hour, ma’am.” 

“Well, Con,” said Mrs. Coulter, “we have no ac- 
commodation for you here, I regret to say.” 

“ Oh, ma’am,” said Winny, hastily interposing, 
“ neither my brother nor I ever dreamed of his stay- 
ing here. As soon as I wash up the tea-things I II 
be asking leave to go and settle him in a boarding- 
house. Oh dear, no ! ma’am, he don’t want to be 
depending on any one, not even on me. He came 
out here to earn a living for himself and his family, 
and please God he'll be able to do it.” 

“Very good, indeed, Winny; you may go with 
him after tea, of course, but see that you return in 
seasonable time.” 

At this Winny was somewhat settled. “I don’t 
think, Mrs. Coulter, you ever knew me to spend ai) 


36 


CON o’rfgan ; OR^ 

evening out of your house since I came to it. 1 
thank God I have as much regard for my character 
as any one else. Still I'm thankful to you for your 
good advice, whether I need it or not.” 

“Mrs. Coulter then sailed out of the kitchen and 
up stairs again, leaving the brother and sister at last 
to the free interchange of their feelings and affections. 

“ And now that we can speak a word between our- 
selves,” said Winny, “how are you off for money. 
Con ? — have you any at all left ?” 

“Well, not much; but still I’m not entirely run 
out. We had a good deal of expense, you see, with 
doctors an’ one thing an’ another, so that I had' just 
enough to bury my mother decently, an’ thankful I 
was for that same.” 

“ What did you say?” cried Winny, dropping the 
dish-towel from her hand, and sinking on a seat pale 
as death. “ Is my mother dead, then ?” 

Con was thunderstruck. He had quite forgotten 
that Winny was as yet ignorant of her mother’s 
death, and he had alluded to it inadvertently. But 
it was too late to prevaricate now. The mournful 
tidings must come out, and he addressed himself to 
the task with desperate resolution. 

“ She is, Winny dear, may the Lord in Heaven 
have mercy on her soul ! I didn’t mean to tell you 
BO suddenly, Winny, but it can’t be helped now, and, 
besides, you’d have to know it some time. Three 
months ago, when the long summer days were in it 
an’ the grass was green, we laid her in my father’s 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 3t 

grave back of Kilshannon Chapel. But sure we 
have no reason to repine, for she’s gone to a better 
world, Winny, where she’ll never feel cold or hun- 
ger, or sorrow any more. She wasn’t taken short, 
either, thanks be to God ! — she had a reasonable time 
to prepare, and your money provided her with every 
comfort in her last sickness. Biddy did all she could 
for her ; if she had been her own child she couldn’t 
have done more. She died as easy as a child, after 
giving us all her blessing. Her only trouble was 
that she couldn’t get a sight of you, but she had a 
dream about you the very night before she died that 
eased her mind all of a sudden. She thought the 
Blessed Virgin came to her in her sleep, and told 
her not to fret about you, that you were under her 
protection, and that there was no fear of you. There 
now, Winny dear — don’t cry that way — and still 
I’m glad to see you cryin’, for it’ll relieve your poor 
heart. You looked so wild at first that I didn’t know 
what to do or say. Sure you wouldn’t wish to have 
our mother back again in this troublesome world ? 
— sure you wouldn’t now, Winny ?” 

“ Oh no, no,” said the heart-struck mourner, “ that 
wouldn’t be right, but, then, to think that I have no 
mother — that’s the thought that kills me. Con — just 
when I was plannin’, day and night, how happy we’d 
all be when her and Biddy and the children would 
come out next spring or fall 1 Sure I never grudged 
any work I had to do, though God knows it was 
hard enough at times, because I thought it was for 


S8 


CON O'REGAN ; OR, 

my mother I was earnin’, and my greatest comfort 
was that she didn’t knowhow poorly I felt at times, 
and how ill able I was to work. And, then, I was 
always thinking of the happy days we’d have to- 
gether, but now — now — that’s all over — I’ll never, 
never see her again in this world, — an* I’ve no one 
to work for now !” Throwing her apron over her 
head, as if to shut out a world that was now hateful 
to her, the poor girl wept and sobbed for some time 
unrestrainedly, for Con thought it best to let her cry 
it out. After awhile, however, he ventured to put 
in a word of remonstrance, his own tears flowing fast 
as he spoke. 

“ I declare now, Winny, “ I’ll leave the place, so I 
will, if you keep crying that way. It’s thankful you’ll 
be that your mother’s gone to rest, when once you 
get over the first heavy sorrow. So dry up your 
tears, Winny, and let us talk the matter over quietly.” 

“ But, tell me, Con,” said his sister, uticovering 
her face, and making an effort to restrain her tears, 
“ tell me, did you get any Masses said for her ?” 

“We did, indeed, Winny. Father Halligan said 
four Masses for her, besides the one that his curate. 
Father McDonnell, said the day of the funeral. And 
there wasn’t a charity that Biddy gave since her 
death but was given with that intention. Oh 1 we 
didn’t forget her, Winny; indeed we didn’t. As 
far as our means would allow us, we done our duty.’’ 

“Well! God bless you for that same,” sobbed 
Winny, “ I know Biddy was ever and always a good 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD 


39 


daughter-in-law — may the Lord reward her ! and for 
you, Con, I don’t need to be told that you acted the 
part of a good son. But oh ! oh ! can it be — can it 
be that my mother is dead — dead and gone ?” and 
wringing“her hands, she burst Into a fresh fit of 
weeping. Con could adTise no better means of ar- 
resting this torrent of grief than by exciting Winny’s 
wonder, which he happily had it in his power to do. 

“ What do you think, Winny,” he said, in a low, 
mysterious, voice, “ but we heard the Banshee cryin’ 
all round the house for three nights before my poor 
mother died ! It’s truth I tell you, Winny. You 
know the Banshee follows the O’Connor family — 
you remember poor Aunt Aileen that died when she 
was a slip of a girl, and how the Banshee was heard 
for nights and nights before her death. You never 
heard the Banshee, Winny ?” 

“ No, but I often heard others say they did.” 

“ Well, sure enough, this was the first time I heard 
it, and I hope it will be the last; it’s such a lonesome, 
deathly cry, that it makes a body shiver all over. 
But none of us. saw her, thanks be to God !” 

The door-bell then rang loudly, and Winny has- 
tily w’iped her eyes to admit her master. The old 
man’s mind was happily taken up with something 
else, so that Winny’s swollen eyes passed unnoticed. 

As soon as she had left up the tea in the dining- 
room, Winny hastened^ to give Con his supper, 
being anxious to get him off to his new home before 
the return of the housemaid, who was spending the 


40 


CON O^REGAN ; OR, 


evening out, and whose cross-examination she wished 
to avoid in the present state of her mind. 

To her mistress she said nothing as to what she 
had heard, for Mrs. Coulter had that measured and 
staid character which belongs to New England 
ladies, and the cold, formal accents of her condo- 
lence would have fallen drearily on the fervent 
heart of the Irish girl. “ No ! no !” thought Winny^ 
as she looked at her, seated at the head of her tea- 
table, dispensing its comforts to her family with as 
much stiffness and formality as could possibly be 
thrown into the occasion; “ no, no — the look of her 
is enough to turn one’s heart into ice ; she’d be only 
teasing me with useless questions ; but, please God ! 
I’ll tell the master as soon as I get a chance. God 
bless his kind heart, with all his roughness, a body 
can’t help warming to him.” 

As soon as she possibly could, after supper, 
Winny put on her bonnet and sh^wl, and sallied 
forth with Con in quest of a boarding-house. She 
knew of several kept by acquaintances of her own, 
but there were many points to be considered in a 
matter whose consequences might be so important 
both for time and eternity. The choice of a board- 
ing house seems a small thing, but it very often de- 
cides the fate of a stranger arriving in a place 
where all is new to him, and where he has to make, 
not only friends, but acquaintances. The character 
of his associates is, then, of the last importance, 
and may influence his whole after-life, whether for 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


41 


good or ill. Happily, both Winny and Con were 
fully sensible of this, and after some consideration, 
and much consultation, Con was received into the 
family of a certain Mrs. Maloney, a respectable 
widow from the next parish to that of Ballymullen, 
who contrived to support herself and three children 
by the profits of her boarding-house. The house 
was neat and clean, although scantly furnished, and, 
on the whole, Con thought the choice a good one. 



43 


CON o’kegan ; OR, 


CHAPTER III. 

Con O’Regan was early at his post next morning 
equipped in a suit of working-clothes, purchased by 
himself and Winny over-night, and having announced 
himself as a new hand, was employed by the other 
men in one way or another till the arrival of Mr. 
Coulter, who made his appearance about eight o’clock. 
One of the partners came in soon after, and imme- 
diately noticed Con, who was wheeling out some 
empty boxes on a truck. 

“I say, Mr. Coulter, wbo is that man that I just 
met at the door 

“Can’t say,” returned the senior partner, drily; 
“ how should I know who you met at the door ?” 

“ Oh ! I mean the man who is taking out those 
boxes. I never saw him before.” 

“ Very likely. That’s a man whom I engaged 
yesterday to assist in the warehouse. He’ll make a 
capital porter, after a while.” 

“ Yes, but aint he Irish ? I thought we were to 
have no more of them here. We have quite too 
many as it is.” 

“ I don’t know as to that,” said Mr. Coulter, w’ith 
a sagacious shake of the head, and speaking very 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


43 


elowly ; “ I think where there is question of hard 
work there are none to come up to those very Irish. 
For my part, I have had many of them in my em- 
ployment during the last twenty years, and 1 tell 
you now, as I often told you before, that I have 
generally found them industrious, sober, and every 
way trustworthy. And, then, you know yourself as 
well as I do, that they are much more civil and 
obliging. I can’t for the life of me see why it is that 
there is such an outcry against them.” 

“There, now,” said Pirns, eagerly, “.you admit 
that there is an outcry against them, and that proves 
that they deserve it. Americans are too fair and too 
honorable to condemn men without sufficient cause.’' 

“ Humph !” said Mr. Coulter, shrugging his shoul- 
ders, “ there’s one great property we have above all 
other people — that of blowing our own trumpet. 
Just let this poor Irishman alone — give him fair play, 
and see if he don’t do his duty.” 

“ You have certainly a strange way of talking, Mr. 
Coulter,” said the other, reddening with anger at the 
sarcasm so bluntly conveyed in the first clause of the 
last speech. “You, at least, have not much of the 
American about you.” 

“ Maybe yes and maybe no,” said the imperturba- 
ble old man ; “ I’m not bound to follow the mass of 
my countrymen, or uphold them when they do wrong, 
am I ? — I have a mind of my own. Master Pirns, and 
what’s more, I mean to have it as long as I live.” 

“ Well ! well !” cried Pirns, pettishly, “ keep it and 


44 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

welcome, but I do wish you would consult Mr. Wood 
and myself before you draw those ignorant, hard- 
headed Irish Papists about us. Just at a time, too, 
when every respectable house in the city, indeed all 
New England over, is making it a point to get rid 
of them. It ill becomes us to give such an example.” 

“ Hear him now !” said Coulter, as he turned the 
key in the lock of the office door, “ what a fuss he 
makes about nothing ! If you don’t want to keep 
the young man here. I’ll pay him out of my own 
pocket, and employ him on private business of my 
own. So let there be no more about it.” 

“ Oh ! as to that, Mr. Coulter, I guess neither 
Wood nor myself thinks any more of a few dollars 
a week than you do — it’s the principle for which I 
contend.” 

The old gentleman threw back the office door 
with a loud bang, muttering something very like a 
consignment of his Know-Nothing partner (for 
there were Know-Nothings then as well as now, 
dear reader,) to the safe keeping of a most unpopu- 
lar individual commonly known as “ Old Nick,’* 
whereupon Pirns, seeing that his blood was up, 
thought proper to betake himself to an upper loft 
where he was wont to exercise his authority. 
Happily there were none of the obnoxious race to 
arouse his kindling ire, for good Mr. Coulter con- 
trived to keep all the Irishmen in the concern about 
himself, wuth the kindly intention of screening 
them, as much as might be, from the ever-watchful 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 45 

distrust of the junior partners, and the contempt- 
uous dislike of the clerks. 

As for Con O’Regan, he applied himself heart and 
soul to please his employers. Being warned, and, 
therefore, half armed, by the friendly advice of Mr. 
Coulter, he took care to leave nothing in the power 
of those who would desire nothing more than to 
find some plausible excuse for condemning him. 
“Well! it is hard enough, too,” would he some- 
times think as he wound his way to his lodging- 
house after a day of hard, unremitting toil; “here 
am I and three or four other poor Irishmen work- 
ing like slaves from morning till night, doing all we 
can to please, and never getting one word of praise 
or encouragement from Monday morning till Satur- 
day night, for even Mr. Coulter, God bless him ! 
hardly ever speaks to us, unless to give us some 
orders. And then, if the least thing goes wrong 
with any of the gentlemen, we’re all kept in hot 
water ; it’s nothing then but ‘ stupid Irish’ and ‘ ig- 
norant Paddies,’ and the hardest names they can 
think of for us. Well I God be with poor old Ire- 
land, anyhow !” and Con would invariably end his 
cogitations with a heavy sigh. 

Very soon after he engaged in the warehouse of 
Coulter, Pirns & Co., he went one eveping to see 
Winny, who contrived as soon as she well could to 
send Leah, the housemaid, up stairs to do some- 
thing for the young ladies. The coast thus clear 
she hastened to profit by the opportunity. 


.46 


CON o'regan ; OR, 


“And now, Con,” said Winny, placing a chair for 
her brother near to where she sat, plucking a goose, 
“and now. Con, how do you like your new situa- 
tion? I was thinking long to see you ever since, 
but couldn’t manage to get out, for we had a good 
deal of company here.” 

She did not tell her brother what she knew would 
only fret him, that amid all this bustle her health 
•was very indifferent, so that she had been at times 
hardly able to hold up her head. 

“Well! on the whole, I can’t complain, Winny, 
though, to tell you the truth, I don’t feel at home in 
it. I know I’m earning far more than I could do in 
Ireland, but somehow — ” he paused, cleared his 
throat, and then went on in a quick, tremulous 
voice, “ but somehow — I know it’s foolish in me to 
say so after coming so far to make money — but 
there’s nothing like the truth — I’d rather do with 
less at home in Ireland, for, after all, Winny dear, 
‘ home’s homely,’ and it’s true enough what I heard 
the ladies and gentlemen singing often up at the 
big house, — 

‘ Be it ever so humble there’s no place like home.’ ” 

Winny smiled, but her smile was mournful, for 
her heart had often echoed that sentiment in the 
loneliness of her dark cellar-kitchen during the five 
long years she had been from home. Often, when 
her heart was full even to overflowing, without one 
near of her own race or her own religion to whom 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


47 


she could impart even a portion of her overwhelm- 
ing thoughts and feelings, she felt as though words 
would have been too small a purchase for one sight 
of the loved ones far away beyond the great ocean 
whose terrors she had braved to come to a land “ of 
trial and unrest.” 

So she keenly felt the truth of what Con said, 
but it did not suit her to say so, and she tried to 
laugh him out of his melancholy. 

“ Why, Con, are you home-sick already ? — didn’t 
you know well enough before you left home that 
you were coming to a strange country, and, of 
course, you couldn’t expect to find all things to 
your liking anywhere you’d go ? but sure, after all, 
it’s but natural for you to be sorrowful — you have 
Biddy and the children to think of.” 

“Well, I don’t deny but what I think of them 
many’s the time,” returned Con, “ but it isn’t that 
altogether that makes me feel so strange here — oh, 
no ! I’d get over that in time, for, please God, we’ll 
have them out before very long, but it’s the way 
they have here of treating Irishmen like dogs, just 
for all the world as if we were forcing in on them 
against their will.” 

“ Oh now, Con,” put in Winny, “ It’s hardly so 
bad as that. Don’t be makin’ it worse than it is.” 

“ I’m not makin’ it worse, Winny ! I wish to God 
I could tell a better story, but there’s no use blind- 
ing our own eyes. Short time as I’m here, I have 
seen plain enough that Americas very different 


48 


coK o’regan ; OR, 


from what we thought it was. Why, don’t you rei 
member, Winny, how the people used to say at 
home, and ourselves amongst the rest, that there 
was no difference made here between Catholic and 
Protestant, or Irishman and Englishman — no mat- 
ter where they came from, or who they were, we 
thought they were all welcome here, and that cead 
mille failthe was the word to all strangers. Ah! 
Winny, Winny, weren’t them mighty fine drames 
entirely ? Isn’t it a thousand pities that they’re all 
gone before we’re long in America ?” 

“Well ! well I Con,” said Winny, as she proceeded 
to the stove to singe her goose, “ there’s no use in 
lookin’ back. Look straight before you, man, and 
try to make the best of it, now that you are here.” 

“ That’s just what I mean to do, with God’s assist- 
ance. You know what we used to read in our 
Manson’s Spelling-book long ago : ‘ Faint heart 
never won fair lady’ — so I suppose the fair Tady 
means good luck as well, and I’ve made up my 
mind to have good luck, or I’ll know for what. But 
do you know, Winny, it pulls my courage down a 
peg when I think of all our friends and neighbors 
that are here so many years and have so little by 
them.” 

“ Oh nonsense. Con, how could you expect such 
men as Paul Bergen and Tom Derragh to have 
either money or value ?” 

“ Xo more I don’t ; it’s not of them I’m thinking, 
for I see plain enough that the fault is mostly their 


EMIGRANT LIFE tN THE NEW WORLD. 


49 


own, but there’s James Reilly and Pat Mulvany, 
and a good many others that we both know, steady, 
sober, hard-working men — they were that at home, 
and they’re just the same here — well, I don’t see 
that they'YQ any better off than the others. It’s true 
they live better, and their families are not in real 
downright hardship, like Paul Bergen’s, but still it’s 
only from hand to mouth with them, and it takes 
every penny they can make to keep things square. 
This is what disheartens me at times, Wiiiny, and 
the more I think of it, it’s all the worse. But I 
think it’s gettin’ late, and I’ll have to be up early, 
for it’s me that takes down the shutters and opens 
the doors this last fortnight or so.” 

“ Well, then, you’d better go,” said Winny, in as 
cheerful a tone as she could command, for her heart 
was heavy with the home-truths which Con had 
presented more clearly to her mind than they ever 
appeared to her before. “ It’s nearly nine o’clock, 
but just wait a minute till you bid Leah good night, 
I hear her foot stealing down the stairs.” 

Having shaken hands with the prim and neatly- 
dressed Leah, and wished her good night. Con took 
his way to his home for the time being, thinking all 
the way that Winny didn’t look at all like what she 
used to do. “ She used to be as merry as a kitten,” 
thought he, “ and as red as a rose; now she’s dull 
and heavy, and melancholy-like, with no more color 
in her face than there is in a whin-stone. And then 
what’s come of the fine Sunday clothes she said she 


CON O^REGAN J OR, 


6e 

had ? ne’er a one of them has myself seen, though 
we went to Mass together every Sunday since I 
came. Ah- Winny, poor Winny ! I’m afeard it’s 
what you left yourself bare and naked to send home 
money ! and I suppose it’s often the same story 
might be told of them that sends home money 
to Ireland f’* 

It was only a few days after this visit to Winny 
that Con was invited by one Phil McDermot to a 
dance at his house, and Con, elated With the 
thoughts of meeting many old acquaintances, as he 
was assured he would, went to Mr. Coulter’s that 
same evening to ask Winny to accompany him on 
the following evening. Great was his surprise 
when Winny shook her head and told him she 
couldn’t go, and what was more, she didn’t want to 
go. 

“ Why, sure you’re not in earnest, Winny,” and 
Con opened his eyes to their fullest extent ; “ what 
would ail you but you’d go ? I’m sure there s no 
one in more need of a little diversion than you are, 
and what’s more. I’ll not go a step without you. So 
go you must !” 

“ No, nor you^W not go either. Con — at least with 
my will, an’ I think you’ll hardly go against it.” 

* Con’s surmi?e was perfectly correct, as all who take an in- 
terest in the Iiish in America can truly testify. We have 
all of us known numerous instances of poor servant girls send- 
ing home several pounds in the c-^urse of a couple of years, 
from an average wages of /Ire dollars a month. 


EJfflORANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 51 

Con looked hard at Winny, to see if he could 
detect even the slightest semblance of a lurking 
smile, but there was none ! Winny’s face was even 
graver than usual, as she said ; 

“I’m quite in earnest, Con. These dances are 
very, very bad places of resort for young people. 
You know the penny dances, and the barn-dances 
and all such things were forbidden by the clergy at 
home, an^ it’s ten times worse they are here. No 
one that wants to keep up a decent character ever 
thinks of going to a dance of this kind. They say 
there’s more mischief done at them night-dances 
than anywhere else. I might never face Father 
Timlin if I went, and besides I wouldn’t go myself 
on any account, when I know it’s wrong to do it.” 

“Well! but sure it wouldn’t be any great harm 
to go now, Winny, when you’d have your brother 
with you ?” 

“ Just as much harm as if I went alone, for I’d be 
giving you and others bad example, and putting 
myself and you, too, in harm’s way, so say no more 
about it. Con, if you don’t wish to grieve me to the 
heart.” 

“ But what will Phil McDermot say ?” persisted 
Con, still hardly convinced. 

“ Let him say what he pleases,” returned Winny, 
with some sharpness. “ He wanted to get you into 
his net, as he has got many another. It’s him and 
the like of him that ruins many and many a decent 
boy and girl, enticing them into all sorts of bad 


53 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


company for the sake of selling their dirty drop of 
poisonous liquor. They’ll come to them with a 
friendly word and a deceitful smile, and talk to 
them about home, till they make them b’lieve they’re 
the best friends they have in the world, an’ all the 
time they’d sell them body and soul for sixpence. 
Say to Phil McDermot, indeed ! just say nothing at 
all, but keep away from him altogether. If you 
don’t b’lieve me, just ask the priest the first time 
you go to confession, anj/yon’ll see what he’ll say to 
you 1” 

“ That’s enough, Winny dear,” said Con eagerly, 
seeing that his sister appeared rather annoyed at 
his pertinacity ; “ think no more about it, and nei- 
ther will I. What the clergy set their face against 
must be bad everywhere, so I’ll have nothing to do 
with these dances.” 

“ God bless you. Con,” said Winny fervently, her 
large dark eyes filling with tears of joy and afiec- 
tion ; “ you’ll never be sorry for making that promise, 
if you have the grace to keep it. I know you were 
a great dancer at home, but keep from it here, Con, 
for it’s different company you’d meet altogether.” 

So the brother and sister parted for that time, 
and Con went home well satisfied with himself, and 
grateful to Winny for her watchful solicitude. 

The following day passed away without any re- 
markable occurrence, and as evening drew near. Con 
could not help thinking of the dance. Dancing had, 
for years, been his favorite amusement, and whether 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


53 


it was at “ patron,”* wedding, or in competition for 
“ the cake,”t Con was always first on the list It 
was long since he had had “ a good dance,” and the 
very thought of it made him step more lightly, but 
then he could not think of disregarding Winny’s ad- 
vice, enforced as it was by the precepts of religion, 
for Con knew very well that night-dances in taverns 
or public houses were everywhere and always con- 
demned by the Church as inimical to Christian mo- 
rality. So Con nianfully put away his longings after 
the flesh-pots of Egypt, and sent his thoughts home- 
ward over the sea to the little thatched cottage 
under the sycamore tree, where he had left his young 
wife and her two little ones in anxious expectation 
of being soon sent for to America. And, please 
God, they’ll not have to wait long,” said Con within 
himself ; “ if I only keep my earnings together. I’ll 
be able to get them out next spring, or at farthest 
in the fall, and won’t we be all happy then ? So I'll 
put all these foolish thoughts out of my mind, and 
not spend a shilling that I can help till I have enough 

* The famous annual festivals he'd in the rural parts of Ire- 
land from time immemorial, on the feast of the Patron Saint 
of the parish. The dance is always held in the open air, ge- 
nerally at some cross-roads, or on the smooth green sward of 
some tequestered vale. 

t Dancing for the cake is, I believe, a custom peculiar to 
Ireland, The importaLt edible is placed on high in view of 
all the company, and enviable is the lot of the “ dancing pair,” 
who, “ by tiring others down,” obtain the right to take dowa 
the cake. These dances are also held in the open air. 


bi CON o’reoan ; OR, 

to send for Biddy and the children.” On the second 
day after this, Mr. Coulter called Con into his office 
to dust it out, and taking up the morning paper 
'vrhich he had just laid down, he gruffly asked his 
new porter if he had been at a dance on the previous 
evening. 

“No, sir,” said Con, turning round in some sur- 
prise ; “ I was not, indeed.” 

“ I’m glad to hear it,” said the old gentleman, in 
a softer tone ; “ they’re a bad business — a disgrace- 
ful business, these Irish dances, and if you’re wise 
you’ll have nothing to do with them. It seems there 
was one last night at a certain tavern kept by one 
McDermot, and, as ustmlj a number of the men got 
drunk ; they then began to quarrel, and pitched into 
each other like fury, the watchmen effected an en- 
trance, and took the whole party off to the station- 
house, where they spent the night. Yesterday morn- 
ing they were all brought up for trial in the police 
court, and two of them were committed to jail under 
charge of* assault and battery.’ Several of the others 
were fined. There it is, you see. Con O’Regan, — 
how can Americans have any respect for people that 
act in such a way ? — and this is quite a common oc- 
currence — there’s hardly a morning but we have such 
accounts of the winding up of* dances.’ ” 

Con stood aghast on hearing this disgraceful story. 
** And what are the names, if you please, sir, of the 
two men that were sent to jail ?” 

Mr. Coulter referred again to his paper. “ Their 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 55 

names ? — ah ! — let me see — yes, here they are — 
Thomas Derragh and Bernard Brady. Well, Con, 
what do you say to these countrymen of yours? — 
ain’t they fine fellows ?” 

“ They’re unfortunate fellows, sir, and nothing 
else, that left their own country and came so far to 
make a bad hand of themselves. God grant them 
better sense ; that^s all I can say 1” 

The office was now thoroughly dusted, and Con 
was glad to make his escape, in older to think over 
what he had just heard. His first thought was gra- 
titude to Heaven for having saved him from being 
a sharer in the disgrace of these rioters. “ If I had 
been so headstrong as to go there,” thought he, 
“ after all that Winny said, it’s in jail I might have 
been now with unfortunate Tom Derragh and his 
companion. I suppose this Brady is one of the 
‘ bricks’ he talked of — the fine jolly fellows that lived 
such a merry life. Ah ! then, isn’t it true enough 
what the old people say in Ireland : ‘ They're well 
guided that God guides V May the Lord keep every 
creature out of bad company ! — sure, the very thoughts 
of havin’ a body’s name in the papers that way is 
enough to make me tremble all over !” 

In the evening he made it his business to see 
Winny, in order to let her know what had hap- 
pened. But be found Winny as well informed on 
the subject as he was himself, Mrs. Coulter having 
taken good care that she should hear it. Indeed, 
that worthy lady was always on the look-out for 


CON O^REGAN ; OR, 


B6 

the police reports, having a singular desire to note 
the wild vagaries of “ the low Irish,” as she used 
to say. Those “ reports” in which the Irish figured 
were carefully treasured in her retentive memory, 
and retailed with notes and comments, first to those 
of her own household — Winny, of course^ included — 
and subsequently to all her visitors during the day. 
To Winny, Mrs. Coulter’s remarks on these occa- 
sions invariably assumed a charitable, sympathizing 
tone, as though condoling with the poor girl on her 
irreparable misfortune in being connected with such 
disorderly characters by the double bond of coun 
try and religion. To all others, her husband in 
eluded, the good lady spoke with all the fire of in- 
spiration on the grievous sin committed by the 
government in not endeavoring to check the emi- 
gration of those degraded Irish, whose crimes were 
enough to draw down vengeance on any country. 

“Softly, softly, my good Prudence,” would her 
husband reply. “Do you think there are no crimes 
committed in this land except by the Irish? Pshaw, 
woman, don’t make a fool of yourself. Some of the 
Irish are imprudent, I grant you, and will get drunk 
and come to blows; and, to tell the truth,” he add- 
ed in a lower voice, “ their foibles are always made 
the most of, whether in police reports or private 
conversation — but after all, Prudence, they are not 
by any means addicted to the dark, secret, unmen 
tionable crimes, which are of daily occurrence 
amongst other sections of the community. Better 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


61 


get drunk and blacken each other’s eyes than to- 
do worse, Mrs. Coulter. I don’t want to defend 
these wild doings of the Irish, but neither will I 
hear them accused of being worse than their neigh- 
bors. I tell you they are not. With all their faults 
even the very worst of them are no worse, in a mo- 
ral point of view, than those around them. And 
then it can’t be denied that the great majority of 
them are good citizens; honest, submissive to their 
employers, and able and willing to undertake the 
hardest work. Let us do them justice, then, and 
we shall not find them one-half as bad as they are 
made to appear.” 

‘‘ How is it, then, Mr. Coulter,” said the indignant 
lady, “ that they are in such bad repute all over the 
country ?” 

“All over Hew England, you mean.” 

“I dorCt mean New England alone — see how their 
idolatrous churches were burned lately in Philadel- 
phia. I guess that is not in New England — is it ?” 

“ Well! it’s all the same. Prudence,” returned the 
husband. “ Philadelphia is just a huge chip of the 
old New England block. The reason of all this out- 
cry against the Irish is pretty plain, in my humble 
opinion. Their religion is their great offence, deny 
it who will, and it’s rather inconsistent for us, who 
pride ourselves on our descent from the old Pu- 
ritans who left England, as they said, on account of 
religious persecution — I say, Mrs. Coulter, it is rather 
inconsistent for us to raise the banner of persecution 


58 


CON O'REGAN ; OR, 


on this free soil, and cry down a whole people be» 
cause they happen to profess a faith which don’t go 
down well with Protestant Americans. But I know 
I might as well talk to the wall as try to remove 
your prejudices, so let us have dinner as soon as pos- 
sible. I’m as hungry as a hawk, after all that talk- 
ing.^’ 

Mrs. Coulter put on her most chilliug look, and 
wore it all the time of dinner, to the no small amuse- 
ment of her worthy husband, who cared little for 
sour looks so long as he had a good substantial din- 
ner before him. As for Winny, she hid her blushes 
and her tears in the privacy of the kitchen, as it was 
Leah’s duty to attend the table. 



EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


59 


/ 


CHAPTEK IV. 

A FEW days subsequent to the unfortunate dance 
at Phil McDermot’s, Con O’Regan went, at Winny’s 
request, to see how matters stood at Paul Bergen’s. 
Pie found the household wearing a still more cheer- 
less aspect than when he saw it last. Mrs. Bergen, 
it is true, was moving about, but still wrapped in 
her woollen shawl, and looking as though she ought 
to be in her bed. The baby was asleep in a cradle 
near the stove, and at a table in one corner sat Paul 
himseir playing cards with three other men, all of 
them more or less under the influence of liquor, as 
was evident from their flushed cheeks and heavy 
eyes. So intent were they all four on their game 
that Con’s entrance was happily unnoticed, except 
by ]!^ora herself and some of the children. Making 
a sign to them to keep quiet, Mrs. Bergen motioned 
to Con to remain at the door, and going over to him, 
she said in a low, eager whisper : “ For God’s sake. 
Con, don’t come in ! — if you do, you’ll not get away 
without losing less or more, for they’ll make you 
play whether you will or no. You see they’ve all 
been drinking, an’ they’ve just got in a quart of gin, 
so we’re in for a night of it, God help us ! Be off 
now as fast as you can before Paul sees you, but 


60 


CON o’kegan ; OR, 

come again soon, for poor Peter’s very bad with 
me, an’ I’ve had trouble to no end since you an’ 
Winny were here. Xot a word, now. Goodnight, 
an’ God be with you.” So saying, she literally pushed 
Con out, and hastily closed the door after him. 

In a little truckle bed behind the cradle lay Peter 
moaning piteously, and tossing restlessly from side 
to side. It was evident that the boy had sustained 
some bodily injury which had, in all probability, 
caused his sickness, for his head was bandaged round 
and round, so that only the lower part of his face 
was visible. His mind was evidently wandering, 
for he kept muttering about one thing and another, 
in incoherent, broken sentences, not seldom giving 
utterance to some oath or imprecation that made 
his mother’s flesh creep. On such occasions she 
would softly remind him of the presence of God, 
and that all such talk was bad and sinful, but Peter 
would only reply with a mocking laugh, or with 
language still more profane. “ Water, water !” was 
the constant cry of his feverish delirium, and his 
mother’s tears mingled with the draught as she 
every few minutes put it to his parched lips. 

“Oh, child! child!’’ would poor Nora Bergen 
say almost aloud, forgetting, in the excess of her 
anguish, the presence of the drunken party at the 
table; “ child! they have killed your soul as well as 
your body ! — he’ll die — he’ll die, an’ no more sense 
or feolin’ in him than a stone, with them terrible 
curses on his poor parched lips. May the Lord ia 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


01 


heaven look on us this night for a poor unfortunate 
family ! — and then,” she would add, as her eye fell 
on the swollen, lowering brow of Paul Bergen, who 
was every moment waxing more sullen as the small 
remains of his hard e_arnings went successively into 
the pockets of the other sharks, “ and then to see 
his hard-hearted father sittin’ there makin’ a beast of 
himself an’ spendin’ the little that he has, when he 
knows right well that we haven’t hardly a bit or sup 
in the house for our breakfast, an’ poor Peter lyin’, 
ma}'be in the jaws of death! Ochonel ochone! 
what’ll we do, at all ?” 

All at once another wild notion entered Peter’s 
brain. His father’s voice reached his ear in loud 
altercation, and the sound awoke a dormant pulsa- 
tion in the poor boy’s heart. “ Father 1 father !” 
he cried, raising his voice high above the clamor at 
the table ; “ father I I want some gin — give me 
some gin, father 1” 

“ Indeed, then, I will, my son,” said the besotted, 
but still good-natured father, laying hold of his 
tumbler, which was still half full of gin and water, 
“ and it’s glad I am to hear your voice again. 
You’re better, aren’t you ?” leaning as he spoke 
over the sick-bed, with the tumbler in his hand. 

Ho answer from Peter, but his mother started to 
her feet from where she had been sitting, or rather 
squatting, at the foot of the bed, and laying her 
hand on the glass, cried with wild eagerness : 


62 


CON o’kegan ; OR, 


“ Why, Paul Bergen ! are you mad Y — sure it’s 
ravin’ the child is !” 

“ Ravin’ or not ravin’, I tell you, Nora, he must 
have what he wants — a little drop will do him no 
harm, but a deal of good. Don’t be botherin’ mo 
with your nonsensical talk. Peter, don’t you want 
some gin ?” he asked, bending again over the sense- 
less child. 

“Yes, yes — gin — I want gin!” came distinctly 
from the dry, fever-cracked lips. 

The glass was instantly at his lips, held by the 
unsteady hand of the drunken father, while the 
mother in vain tried to take it away, crying : 
“ You’ll kill him, Paul — oh. Lord! oh, Lord I you’ll 
kill him 1” 

“ Let me alone,” was the answer; “ don’t you see 
how he drinks it down as if it was honey — I tell 
you it’ll do him good.” 

.The mother, seeing her efforts useless, wrung her 
hands and sank once more on her low seat at the 
foot of the bed, the children all setting up a piteous 
cry when they saw their mother in such distress- 
Jane w^ent over to her and put her arm around her 
neck, beseeching her not to cry that way, though 
the tears were streaming from her own pretty eyes. 

Paul having administered the potion to his son, 
said, with much complacency, as he laid his head 
back on the pillow: “There now, you unhappy 
wretch of a woman, youll see he’ll go to sleep now. 
Just let him alone, an’ go an’ mind your business.” 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 63 

And with that he resumed his place at the table, 
where the game had been standing still awaiting his 
return. When he was gone his wife arose and bent 
over her son, who had really sunk into what appear- 
ed to her a profound slumber. His breathing was 
deep and heavy, but sufficiently regular to allay the 
maternal fears of poor Nora. The night wore on, 
and Jane put the children to bed, all except Patsey, 
who petitioned to be left up with his sick brother, 
to which his mother consented, having a strange pre- 
sentiment at her heart that something was to hap- 
pen before morning. In the utter loneliness and de- 
solation of the moment, it seemed as if the company 
of Jane and Patsey was all she had to rely upon, and 
she heard with satisfaction the boy’s request to be 
allowed to sit up. The two children seemed sensi- 
ble themselves that there was a load of sorrow on 
their mother’s heart, for they sat silent as death, 
nestling on the floor close by her side. On and on 
went the carouse at the table, though the cards had 
been latterly laid aside, Paul protesting that he 
wouldn’t turn another card because he was left with- 
out a shilling in his pocket. But on and still on went 
the drinking and cursing, song after song being sung, 
or rather shouted, to the excruciating torment of 
N ora’s aching head and breaking heart. On and on, 
too, went the deep breathing, or rather snoring of 
the sick boy, his mother ever and anon rising from 
her seat in order to ascertain whether any change 
was taking place, and at last, just as the clock of a 


64 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


neigliboring church told the first hour of morning, 
she noticed with terror that such was really the case. 
The soft, regular breathing had turned to a violent 
heaving of the chest ; the lower jaw had fallen so as 
to leave the mouth wide open, and the nose had as- 
sumed that pinched look which too surely indicates 
approaching dissolution. Wildly uplifting the edge 
of the bandage which covered the lower part of the 
brow, the poor mother saw with horror that her son’s 
eyes were open, but glazed and motionless, and the 
dreadful thought flashed upon her mind that her 
beautiful boy, the pride of her heart, was dying. In 
her agony, she shrieked out, “ Paul ! Paul ! he’s "dy- 
ing — run Some of you for a doctor.” 

Paul was at her side in a moment, and the one 
look which he cast on the death like face before him, 
sobered him effectually. Like a madman he rushed 
to the dooi and up the steps, not waiting even to put 
on his hat. The other men were almost as fright- 
ened as himself, and one or two of them would fain 
have assisted Kora in chafing the boy’s stiffening 
limbs, but the poor mother motioned them away, 
for her soul loathed these drunken associates of her 
wretched husband. 

“ Keep off, every one of you,” she cried, as with 
frenzied eagerness she continued her hopeless task, 
looking ever and anon at the distorted face, in hopes 
of seeing even a shade of consciousness ; “ don’t 
touch him — I tell you don’t lay a finger on him; 
he’s going before his God without the chance of 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


6ft 


sayin’ ‘ Lord have mercy on me/ and all from your 
unfortunate gin. Oh, my God 1 ray God ! if you’d 
only spare him to get the rites of the Church ; but 
no — no — oh ! he’s goin’ — he’s goin’ ; och ! och ! will 
he never come with the doctor ? what’s keepin’ him 
at all ? Jane, Patsey, run, run an’ see what’s keepin’ 
them !” Here one long, painful moan escaped the 
poor sufferer’s blue lips — a few convulsive gasps, a 
shiver ran through the whole body, the legs were 
suddenly drawn up and then stretched at full length, 
then a long, deep breath, and all was still. A soul 
was gone to its account, and the hapless mother 
sank on her knees beside the corpse, crying “ Lord 
have mercy on him ! Mother of God pray for him 
— oh, mercy I mercy — Christ have mercy on my poor 
child !” It was the agony of faith as well as of 
nature. The two children wept aloud, for they knew 
that their brother was dead — they knew it by their 
mother’s wild, prayerful sorrow. 

Just then Paul threw open the door and rushed in, 
his face pale as death, and his hair hanging in thick 
masses over his eyes. 

“ How is he now ?” he cried, approaching the bed ; 
“ that hell-hound of a doctor wouldn’t come ; he 

called me a d d drunken Irishman, and said the 

brat might die and welcome for all the loss it would 
be — well for him, he pulled in his head so soon and 
shut the window, for I’d have brained the fellow with 
a stone. There’s another lives a block or two up 
the other way, an’ I ran in to see how he is before I 


66 


CON O^REGAN ; OR, 

go any farther. But what’s this, N^ora — is he deal ? 
— is he dead, woman ? Why don’t you speak ?” 

“ He is dead, Paul,” replied the heart-broken mo- 
ther, raising herself with difficulty, and fixing a cold 
reproachful eye on her husband. “ He is dead ; as 
dead as ever you or I’ll be. He needs no doctor 
now. You sent him home fast enough at last. 
Poor man ! poor man !” she added, her voice assum- 
ing a somewhat softer tone, “ there’s no use in 
blamin’ you — you hardly knew what you were doin’ 
at the time — but och! och! I wouldn’t be in your 
place for all the world — my own is bad enough — 
God He knows that.” She then stooped and closed 
her son’s mouth and eyes with surprising calmness, 
then kissed his lips and brow, and all without drop- 
ping a single tear, while all around her was tears 
and sobs. Even the hardened drunkards who stood 
by could not help sympathizing in this heavy cala- 
mity; and, as for Paul, his grief knew no bounds. 
He very naturally reproached himself for having at 
least hastened the death of his favorite child, and 
hence it was that, like Rachel, he would not be 
comforted. “My son is dead, and I have killed 
him!” was the only answer he vouchsafed to his 
late boon companions when they tried to comfort 
him. At last he worked himself into a kind of 
phrenzy, and seizing hold of two of the men, one 
with either hand, he shook them violently. “ Only 
for you,” he said, or rather shouted, “ only for you 
and your cursed drink, my boy might be alive yet. 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


61 


Clear out, every mother’s son of you, and never let 
me see the face ot one of you inside my door. Be 
off now, or I might be tempted to do what I’d be 
sorry for doin’ in my own house.” 

“We will, Paul — we will,” said one, answering 
for the others ; “ God help you, poor man, it’s no 
wonder you’d be out of your mind — God comfort 
you and your poor wife, this sorrowful night.” 

“ No, no, Paul,” said another, as they all took up 
their hats, “ we’ll not stay a minute longer than 
you wish.” 

Fortunately for the poor afflicted Bergens, these 
men, with all their faults, had Irish hearts, for they 
were not long gone when two women made their 
appearance, sent by their respective husbands to 
assist Mrs. Bergen in the sad task of laying out the 
corpse. This was a great relief to the poor woman, 
who would otherwise have had the whole dismal 
labor to herself 

“ I’ll give you a hand at any rate,” said she, with 
pitiable calmness — the calmness of despair. 

“ Indeed, then, you’ll not, Mrs. Bergen — the sorra 
hand you’ll lay on him — your load is heavy enough. 
God knows, poor woman, without havin’ that to do. 
Dear knows, but it was the heart-scald all out for 
you to have them drunken vagabonds of ours, an* 
that Jack Duigenan in on you at such a time.” 

“ Her own husband was worse than any of them, 
Mrs. Tierney,” said Paul, rousing himself from 
his apparent lethargy ; “ there’s not such a brute 


6$ 


CON o’regan ; OR. 


livin* this night as Paul Bergen, an' that woman 
there before you — that Nora Bergen that you see 
there — is just the most miserable poor woman in- 
side the city — search it all round. But this night 
will settle all that. With the help of Almighty 
God, they’ll have good eyes that’ll ever see me taste 
a drop again — neither gin, ale, nor brandy shall 
ever cross ray lips, so long as God leaves me life. 
Do you hear me, Nora?” 

I . do, Paul, I do,” said Nora, in the same listless 
tone, and without raising her head. It was clear 
she had not much faith in the promise, solemnly and 
fervently as it was made. Poor Nora Bergen had 
heard but too many such promises made of late 
years without any permanent improvement in Paul’s 
habits. 

When Con O’Regan went to his dinner next day, 
he was met on the way by one of his acquaintances, 
who told him of what had happened. Con was 
very much shocked on hearing of poor Peter Ber- 
gen’s death, and as soon as he could get away in 
the evening, he went to Mr. Coulter’s to see if 
Winny would go with him to the wake. Winny 
had not even heard of the boy’s death, and her 
heart was sore for the poor mother already bent to 
the earth with manifold affliction. 

“ Lord bless me. Con dear, how did it happen, 
all ?” said she; “ was he sick, or was it an accident, 
or what ?” 

“ Not a know I know, Winny, only that when I 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


69 


went in there last night, poor Mrs. Bergen told me 
in a whisper that Peter was very bad with her — she 
wouldn’t let me stay a minute, because Paul and 
some other men were drinkin’ and playin’ cards, 
and she was afeard I couldn’t well get away if they 
once got a sight of me.” 

“ God bless her,” said Winny, fervently ; “ it’s a 
thousand pities to see her amongst such a set, for 
she’s a decent, well-conducted woman, as ever I 
knew, at home or abroad. If you sit down a minnit 
I’ll just run up and see if missis will let me go with 
you for an hour or two.” 

Away went Winny to the front parlor, where the 
family were all assembled after supper, Mrs. Coul- 
ter was seated in a rocking-chair, swaying herself to 
and fro in perpetual motion, while she fabricated a 
comforter with large wooden knitting-pins. Her 
husband sat right opposite, deeply immersed in the 
contents of the evening paper. Their two daughters, 
one fourteen and the other eleven, were studying 
the lessons of the morrow, each with a formidable 
pile of books before her, some of them of dimensions 
which would have frightened our simple^ and less 
bookish ancestors. 

“ If you please, ma’am,” said Winny, holding the 
open door by the handle, “ would you just let me 
go out for an hour or two with my brother ? There’s 
a friend of ours-^that has a little boy dead, and we’d 
wish to go to the wake awhile. I’ve the tea-things 


CON O^REGAX ; OR, 


*?0 

»U washed up, ma’am, and Leah says she’ll do any- 
thing you may want done till I come back.” 

“ But these wakes, Winny,” said Mrs. Coulter, 
very gravely, “I have always heard that they are 
very bad, indeed. I have never allowed any of my 
Irish help to attend wakes, and I really fear I must 
refuse. I don’t see why you Irish will keep up these 
old heathenish practices in a civilized country.” 

“Well, ma’am, it’s an old custom at home,” re- 
turned Winny, hardly able to keep in her tears, “ and 
we can’t give it up here where we’re all amongst 
strangers, as one may say. Death is always lone- 
some, ma’am, and it’s a kind of a comfort to them 
that has it in the house to see their friends about 
them. But I suppose I’m not to go, ma’am, so I 
may let Con go by himself?” 

“No, you shan’t, Winny,” said Mr. Coulter, 
speaking for the first time ; “ Mrs. Coulter, ma’am, 
you’ll oblige me by allowing Winny to go.” 

The girls, too, chimed in to the same tune, for 
they both liked the gentle, good-natured Irish girl, 
and Mrs. Coulter was forced to yield, though she 
did it with a very bad grace. “You may go then 
for this time,” said she to Winny, “ but remember 
you must never ask to go to another wake so long 
as you are in my family.” 

“ If I can help it I won’t, ma’am,” said Winny, 
with quiet humor as she closed the door and with- 
drew. Leaving her master and mistress to talk the 
matter over at their leisure, let us follow Winny 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. tl 

and her brother to the house of death. They found 
some six or eight men and nearly as many women 
assembled in Paul Bergen’s subterraneous residence. 
Paul himself was just placing some pipes and to- 
bacco on a table, and Nora sat at the head of her 
own bed whereon the corpse was laid out. The 
wall beyond the bed was hung with religious pic- 
tures, furnished by the neighbor women, and the 
sheets on the bed were of well-bleached linen, the 
last poor remains of some comfortable homestead 
in the old country, carefully treasured for such pur- 
poses as the present, for the Irish peasantry always 
endeavor, if possible, to have, or at least procure, 
linen sheets for laying out their dead.* Every one 
present seemed grave and collected, under the 
strong impression that this was no time for laughter 
or merriment. All sympathized deeply with the 
bereaved parents, and if any one volunteered some 
casual remark on an indifferent subject, it was 
spoken in an under tone. 

Nora seemed utterly heedless of all around, and 
sat with her clasped hands resting on her knees, 
rocking herself to and fro in that peculiar way 
practised by Irish mourners, her eyes cast down 
and her lips firmly compressed as though to keep in 

♦ 00 common and so well recognized is this practice, that it 
is of frequent occurrence in all parts of Ireland for the wealthy 
to send every article required, linen sheets and pillow-cases, 
candlesticks, &c., to accommodate their poorer neighbors oq 
BQC h occasions, and enable them to lay out the corpse decently 


n CON o’rEGAN : OR, 

the wild burst of sorrow that her heart ever and 
anon dictated. The entrance of Con and Winny, 
however, attracted her attention, for she could not 
avoid hearing Paul as he accosted them by name. 
Raising her heavy eyes to Winny’s face she was 
touched by her look of heartfelt sympathy, and 
reaching out her hand to her she burst into a hyste- 
rical fit of weeping as she pointed to the bed. 
Winny and her brother knelt by the bed-side to 
offer up a prayer for the departed soul, and having 
discharged that pious duty they took their places 
in silence. By and by Mrs Bergen said to Con : 

“Won’t you come and look at him, Con? — you 
never had a sight of him when he was livin’, for he 
wasn’t in the house the day you were here, and last 
night you didn’t see him either.” As she spoke she 
raised the thin muslin covering from off the face, 
and Con and Winny were both struck with the 
uncommon beauty of the boy. His face was like 
that of a fair statue lying in the still attitude of 
death, and his long dark hair was carefully combed 
back, leaving a high, well-formed forehead visible. 
It was a brow that a phrenologist would have loved 
to look upon, but its fair smooth surface was marred 
and broken by a gaping, unseemly cut on the left 
temple. Neither Winny nor her brother could 
restrain their tears as they gazed, and the deep sobs 
of the remorseful father were heard from behind. 
No one spoke for a moment, till at length Con 
observed : 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. *13 

“ He was very like yourself, Mrs. Bergen.” 

“ Like what I once was,” she answered, with a 
mournful smile, “ but far, far purtier. Oh, Peter I 
Peter ! it can’t be you that’s lyin’ there — dead — ■ 
dead — and that ugly wound on your poor forehead 1” 

A fresh burst of weeping followed. She let the 
cloth fall on the dead face, and sank once more into 
her seat. Con then ventured to ask Paul how the 
poor boy had come by his death. Paul was saved 
the painful task of answering by Larry Tierney, who, 
making an admonitory gesture to Con, gave him, in 
a low voice, the desired information. 

“You see,” said he, “poor Peter was ever and 
always a stirrin’ lad — and full of good-nature he was, 
too, they tell me, au’ the makin’ of a fine, clever feb 
low — but still, as I was sayin’, he had a stirrin’ way 
with him, an’ was sure to be into any mischief that 
was goin’ — well, the way that it is with us poor 
workin’ people here in the city, we have no great time 
to look after our children, and poor Peter was most 
of his time on the streets, where you may guess that 
it wasn’t the best company he took up with. The 
day that he got this unlucky blow he had been out 
from the time he got his breakfast in the mornin’, and 
cornin’ on the evenin’, he got a squabblin’ with some 
vagabond boys about something or another, an’ what 
would you have of it but one of the young imps took 
tip a sharp stone and flung it right at Peter’s head. 
It struck him on the temple there where you saw the 
wound, an’ the poor fellow dropped down dead, as 


74 


CON O^REtj»vt< ; OR, 


every one thought. But he wasn’t dead, for he came 
to himself while the wound was a-dressing, and if it 
hadn’t been for a swill of gin that poor Paul gave 
him when he was in his cups last night, he might 
have lived, for the doctor that he was taken to before 
he was brought home, examined the wound, an’ said 
it would hardly kill him. So you see it’s a bad busi- 
ness altogether.” 

“ Bad enough, indeed,” said Con, while Winny, 
who had been also a listener, wiped away the big 
tears that would not be kept in, — “ tell me this, 
honest man, do you think Paul has enough to bury 
the child ?” 

“ I’m afeard not,” said Larry, with a rueful shake 
of the head. He then proceeded to inform Con how 
Paul had been fined for that unlucky affair at the 
dance, and how he spent most of what he earned 
“ very foolishly,” but Larry did not tell how he him- 
self had won nearly two dollars of the residue of 
Paul’s funds on the previous night. Another man 
here interposed, and told Con in the same cautious 
tone that they were making up enough to pay the 
expenses of the funeral. “ It’s all amongst ourselves, 
you know,” said he, “and we have nearly what we 
want now. Hot one has refused us yet only that 
rap Phil McDermot— an’ it ill became him to refuse, 
the white-livered spalpeen — him that has got so 
much of poor Paul’s hard earnin’ in his time.” lie 
had unconsciously raised his voice in giving utter- 
ance to this philippic. 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


75 


“ What’s that you say ?” said Paul Bergen ; 
“ what about Phil McDermot ?’* 

“Oh! nothing worth speakin’ of/’ replied his 
friend ; “ a decent man ought to wipe his mouth 
after mentionin’ his name — he’s a disgrace to the 
country he came from, so he is I” 

Paul inquired no further at that time, but when 
the funeral was over, and poor Peter laid decently 
in the Catholic burying-ground with a little white 
headboard bearing his name and age in black letters, 
Paul made it his business to find out what it was 
that Phil McDermot had done to merit such a 
character. On hearing what had happened, he went 
directly and paid that respectable individual a few 
shillings which he owed him, assuring him that that 
was the last money he should ever receive from him. 
“ An’ withal,” said he, “ you have given me a lesson 
that I’ll never forget. Sorrow and misfortune have 
made me a wise man, and for the time to come it’s 
my poor family that’ll get the good of my earnings, 
and not the likes of you.” 

McDermot would have inquired what all this 
meant, declaring himself innocent of any intentional 
offence, but Paul would not hear a word from him, 
and left the house, indignantly refusing the peace- 
offering which Phil would have had him take in tbs 
shape of “ a glass.” 


16 


CON o’reoan ; oa. 


CHAPTER V. 

About a week after the death of Peter Bergen, 
Mr. Coulter on returning from dinner one day told 
Con that Winny wished to see him immediately. 

“ To see me,” repeated Con, in a faint voice ; 
“ why, sir, is there anything wrong with her?” 

“ Don’t be frightened. Con,” said his employer, in 
a kind tone ; “ I believe there is nothing serious, but 
she don’t feel very well, and — and — in fact, she 
thinks of going to the hospital !”^ The worthy man’s 
hesitation proceeded from his unwillingness to tell 
what was really the case, that his wife insisted on 
Winny’s removal without delay. His own kind 
heart recoiled from the idea of sending to an hospi- 
tal the girl who had served them so faithfully for 
four years, especially as her disease had nothing in 
k that could excite fear of infection. 

“ To the hospital, sir I” cried Con, his face pale as 
ashes, for the Irish people have, above all others, an 
instinctive horror of hospitals ; “oh, then indeed, 
it’s low enough Winny is when she’d go to an hos- 
pital. May I go now, if you please, sir?” 

“ Certainly, Con ; go as soon as you can.’* 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. H 

Poor Con could hardly wait to fetch his hat from 
an inner room, but having secured it, he was hasten- 
ing away with a heart full of sorrow, and throbbing 
with impatience to see Winny, when at the door he 
was tnet Iby Mr. Wood, who accosted him with : 

“ What’s all this, O’Regan — where are you going?” 

“ I’m gbin’ down to Mr. Coulter’s, sir,” replied 
Con, evasively ; “ he sent me himself;” and without 
waiting for further interrogation, he brushed past 
and was some way down the street before Mr. Wood 
recovered from his surprise. 

“What a confounded smart chap he is!” was 
Wood’s mental soliloquy, “one would suppose he 
was running for a wager.” 

On reaching the house. Con was ushered by Leah 
into a small room, or rather closet adjoining the 
kitchen, where he found his sister in bed, and look- 
ing so pale and emaciated that he could hardly be- 
lieve it to be the same Winny he had seen fodr or 
five days before. But when Winny held out her 
hand to him with that sweet mournful smile peculiar 
to herself, he burst into tears and cried : “ Winny, 
Winny, what’s come over you at all?” 

“ Sit down there on that chair, Con, and I’ll tell 
you. There’s something gatherin’ on we this twel’- 
month and better — something like a smotherin’ on 
my chest, an’ a great pain in my left side — still I 
didn’t like to tell you, because I was in hopes it 
would wear away^J^ut instead o’ that, it’s what it’s 
gettin’ wotse it is every day, au’ this last week I 


78 


CON O'KEGAN ; OB, 

have hardly had a minute’s peace. The mistress 
used to say all along that it was only imagination, 
and sometimes she’d tell me it was making believe I 
Avas — that’s what we call schemin’, Con, but since I had 
to take to my bed entirely — thatAvas last night — her 
whole trouble is to get me away to the hospital, for, 
even if it’s nothing taking I have, she says there’s 
no way here for me, and that I must get off this 
very day, for she wants to get in another girl in my 
place.” 

Con’s tears had not ceased to flow during this re- 
cital, protracted as it Avas by the many breaks which 
Winny’s weakness rendered necessary. “ The master 
said something,” said he, “ about you going to the 
hospital, but he cut it very short, and sent me off 
here to you.” 

Ah ! the blessing of God be about him now and 
forever,” said Winny Avith moistened eyes, “ it isn’t 
with his will I’m going to the hospital. Leah tells 
me that himself and the mistress had a great debate 
about it, and he told her it was a burnin’ shame to 
send me out, but at last he had to give in, for she 
took on at a great rate, and then, when he could do 
no better, he came and bid me good-bye, and slipped 
this ten dollar bill into my hand to help to pay my 
expenses in the hospital. If he was one of ourselves, 
a thousand times over, he couldn't be kinder than he 
is and has been to me, — and mind, Con, I lay it on 
you, whether I live or die, that you’ll do Mr. Coulter 
a good turn if eve’’ you have it in your power.” 


LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


19 


This made Con’s tears flow afresh, but he assured 
Winny that he felt as grateful himself to Mr. Coul- 
ter as she did, and would always consider him a 
friend. “But for God’s sake don’t talk of dying, 
Winny,” he added, his voice quivering with emo- 
tion ; “ don’t now, an’ I’ll do anything at all you ask 
me.” 

“ Well ! well ! Con, I’m not dead yet, anyhow, and 
you know very well that my talking of it won’t bring 
it about — if it’s the will of God I’ll die, and if not I’ll 
live — so don’t be cast down. Con — leave it all in the 
hands of God, and then take whatever happens for 
the best. But you must get a carriage or something 
that way, and take me to the hospital — that’s the 
first thing to be done.” 

This made Con tremble all over. He tried to 
S])eak but the words stuck in his throat, and he forc- 
ed a cough in order to clear his voice ; taking up his 
hat, he said : “ Well ! I suppose I must see about it. 
Where’s the— the hospital, Winny, or what hospital 
is it ? — hem 1” 

“There’s a charity-hospital. Con,” said Winny, 
after taking a draught of cold water from a mug 
which stood on a chair beside the bed, “ where we 
have to pay nothing at all, and our own clergy go 
there regular — ^it’s true,” she added, hesitatingly, 
“ I’d rather not go in on charity so long as I have 
means to pay, but what I have wouldn’t last long, 
and, besides, if I died you’d want it to bury me.” 

All this was said in a quick, hurried voice, as if 


80 


CON O'REGAN ; OR, 

Winny wanted to get through with it, and when she 
had ended, she drew a long breath, as if relieved of 
a heavy burthen. 

“Well, but don’t you know, Winny,” said her 
brother eagerly, “ that I have ten dollars by me, and 
you have Mr. Coulter’s ten dollars — that makes 
twenty, you see, besides your own.” 

“And do you think. Con, that I’d let you spend 
your ten dollars that way, an* you wantin’ so badly 
to send it home ? — no, indeed, not a penny of it. In- 
stead of that I thought I’d be able to help you to 
send for Biddy and the children, but I suppose that’s 
all over — well, we must only do the best we can., and 
leave the rest to God.” 

Con went off at length, commissioned by Wiony 
to do as he liked, “ and God direct him for the best.” 
So he found out the hospital after a long search, and 
made arrangements to have Winny admitted; then 
procured a carriage, and, wrapping Winny up in her 
warmest clothes, kindly assisted by Leah, he re- 
moved her from the house that had been her dwell- 
ing for four long years, with, nothing more than a 
cold “ good-bye” from Mrs. Coulter, who graciously 
descended to the door to see her off. 

“Good-bye, Winny,” said the lady; “I hope 
you’ll be well soon. Take good care of yourself.” 
And with this admonition she closed the door, and 
returned to her luxurious parlor, where she soon 
forgot all about Winny in the fascination of the last 
new novel. 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


81 


Poor Winny was very soon comfortably settled 
in one of the wards of the hospital, and then her 
first care was to have Con bring her the priest. 
“ Go to Father Timlin,” said she, “ before you go to 
your work, and ask him if he can at all to come and 
see me. Tell him,” said she, “ that there’s no dan- 
ger of death — at least very soon — but it’s well to 
get the rites of the Church as soon as possible. 
Xow, Con, don’t cry that way — you know very well 
that having the priest won’t make me any worse, 
but a great deal better. Maybe he can’t come to- 
day, but if not, I hope he’ll try and come to- 
morrow. And, do you hear. Con,” for he was 
turning away in speechless sorrow, “ go down this 
evening, and see how poor Mrs. Bergen is getting 
on, and bring me word when you come again. Go, 
now. Con,” and she reached out her thin, skinny 
hand, which her brother squeezed between his own ; 
“ go now, and God bless you ! Don’t be frettin’ 
about me, but pray for me, and come again as soon 
as you can.” 

“ I will, Winny !” was all that Con could say, as 
he left the room, not daring to look again at the 
poor girl, who had all along endeavored to conceal 
from him the actual extent of her suffering. It was 
about four o’clock in the afternoon when Con got 
back to the warehouse, and, finding that Mr. Coul- 
ter was out, he said nothing about where he had 
been. No questions were asked of him, but when 
Saturday evening came round, Con found that he 


B2 


GON o’regan ; OR, 


was paid half a day short. “ Well !” said he to himself 
“ I wasn’t half a day away, but then I suppose it’s all 
right. I mustn’t say anything about this to Mr 
Coulter for I know very well he’d make a fuss, and 
there’s no use in the like of that. I’ll get over the 
loss.” 

When Con went to see Mrs. Bergen, on the even- 
ing of the day on which Winny went to the hospital, 
he was agreeably surprised to find her much more 
cheerful than he had seen her since he came to 
Anierica. Paul was sitting at the table reading, and 
laying down his book on Con’s entrance, he came 
forward to meet him with outstretched hand. 

“ You look as if you hardly thought it was me was 
in it,” said Paul, with a smile that he wished to 
make a cheerful one, but could not succeed — it was 
a wintry smile, at best, for grief was still heavy at 
his heart, “ and I don’t wonder at your bein’ sur- 
prised, for I almost wonder at myself to be at home 
e’er an evenin’ without some pot-companions helpin’ 
me to make a beast of myself. Sit down. Con, an’ 
take air of the fire.” 

“ Yes, Con,” said Kora, as she in her turn, shook 
hands with the visitor, “you see we have a good 
fire now, an’ what’s more, we have plenty to eat an’ 
drink, an’ best of all, Con, we have peace an’ quiet- 
ness. Thanks an’ praises be to God, if He afflicts us 
in one way He makes up for it in another.” 

“ Well, I’m sure,” said Con, “ you all look twenty 
pounds better than you did last week, and more of 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


83 


that to you, I pray God.^’ He did not think it ex- 
pedient to inquire how such a change was effected 
all at once, but Nora anticipated his curiosity. 

“ I see,” said she, “ you don’t like to ask how all 
this was brought about, but I’m sure you can’t but 
guess. Paul has never tasted a drop of any kind 
since — since our heavy loss — an’ he went to his duty 
the very day after the funeral, an’ he’s to go again 
towards the end of the week. So, with God’s help, 
there’s no fear of him but he’ll keep from the liquor 
now. I declare to you. Con O’Regan, it’s in heaven 
we are ever since, an’ you’d wonder at how easy we 
find it to get the little wants of the house, though 
it’s only a week since Paul left off drinking.” 

“ And sure Patsey and Jim go to school, and me, 
too,” said Jane, anxious to communicate a share of 
the good news.” 

“ Well, indeed, I’m proud an’ happy to hear it,” 
said Con, “ especially as I have bad news myself.” 

“ How is that ?” cried Paul and Hora in a breath; 
is there anything wrong with Winny ?” 

“ Indeed then there is,” said Con, with a heavy 
sigh . “ I left her in the hospital this afternoon.” 

“ The Lord save us ! an’ what in the world is the 
matter with her ?” 

“Well, mysalf doesn’t rightly know, but I’m 
afeard it’s decline. If it isn’t, it’s very like it, though 
I didn’t say so to her. She wanted so badly to know 
how you were all getting on here that I had to pro- 
mise I’d come and see you this evening.” 


84 


CON O’REGAN *, OR, 


“Poor Winny, it’s just like her,” said Paul. 
“You must go and see her to-morrow, Nora — that 
is, if you’re able at all.” 

“ Oh I I’m able to go further than that, never fear, 
and if I were weaker than I am now, I’d make my 
way to see Winny O’Regan, an’ her sick among the 
cowld strangers in an hospital. No one knows but 
God Almighty and myself how much I owe to that 
same girl. Many and many’s the time she brought 
me comfort when I had very little, though dear 
knows I used to scold her often for layin’ out her 
penny of money on me that had my husband earnin’ 
good wages every week of his life.” 

“ The wages were good enough, Nora,” said Paul 
quickly, “ but you weren’t much the better of them, 
and poor Winny knew that well enough. But never 
mind, Nora, with God’s help, your darkest days are 
past, never to come back again.” 

“ God grant they may, Paul, but remember no 
days are to say dark for me if you only keep sober, 
and set these poor children a good example. I can 
bear poverty, and sickness, and hard work — anything 
at all that God is pleased to send, but drunkenness, 
and cursin’, and swearin', and all such things, and 
seein’ my little place filled so often with graceless 
vagabonds— that’s worse than death to me, and so 
long as I don’t see any of it about me, I’m ready for 
anything that comes across.” 

“ Well, well, Nora,” said her husband, “there’s no 
use in makin’ too many promises, but I tell you ovef 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


85 


!igain that there’s a great change in my mind ever 
since the night that poor Peter died — I feel a dis- 
gust in me for the liquor and them that used to help 
me up with my bad doings, and, please God, you’ll 
never see me as you have seen me. But what’s your 
hurry, Con ?” seeing him stand up and take his hat. 

“ Oh, well, it’s drawing near nine o'clock, and I 
have to be up early in the morning. Good night.” 

Faithful to her promise went Nora Bergen next 
day to the hospital to see Winny, and when she left 
there some half hour after, she had with her a cer- 
tain bundle containing Winny’s clothes, which she 
insisted on taking home to wash. In vain did Win- 
ny assure her that she had plenty of under-clothes 
for some weeks to come, and that she had too much 
to do already for her own family. 

“ No matter for that,” said Nora, “ I haven’t so 
much to do but I can wash the few things you’ll 
have, and, please God, I’ll do it every week as long 
as you’re here. If I can, I’ll bring them myself 
towards the end of the week, but if not. I’ll send Pat- 
sey with them. So God be with you, Winny dear, 
till I see you again. Mind, now, and get well soon 
— just make your mind as easy as you can, and don’t 
keep yourself back with fretting and pining.” 

As for poor Con, he could hardly hold up his head 
while Winny’s case was still undecided. He went 
thr9ugh his work with mechanical exactness, but 
the cheerful spirit that sustained him was for tho 
time broken. One thought was ever present to hit 


86 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

mind, that he was about to lose the sister who had 
done so much for him and his; the sister who was 
the sole bond between him and the pleasant past 
that lay smiling far away in the haze of time ; the 
one true friend to whom he could conhde all his 
troubles, ever sure of obtaining both sympathy and 
advice. What was to become of him in that dreary 
ocean of a city if Winny died, and died amongst 
strangers, to be buried in a foreign soil where no 
kindred dust awaited her? Full of these mournful 
thoughts, Con moved through the routine of his 
daily duties, feeling like one whose heart was dead 
within him. Weeks and weeks passed away thus, 
and Winny’s little funds were all gone, and after 
them went Con’s ten dollars, for it was he that 
always paid the hospital expenses, so that Winny 
knew nothing of what they amounted to. Things 
began to look black with Con, for he had now no 
resource but to draw his own wages in advance, a 
thing he had a great reluctance to do. But there 
was no alternative, so Con took heart of grace and 
asked Mr. Coulter if he wouldn’t be pleased to give 
him a few dollars in advance at his next payment. 

Mr. Coulter knitted his brows, and began to look 
very cross — eyeing Con through his spectacles, he 
demanded : What do you want the money for ? — • 
I thought you had some saved — eh ?'’ 

“ Well, to tell you the truth, sir,” said Con blush 
ing like a young maiden, “ I had a little money — 
ten dollars ot so — but it’s all gone, and Winny’s, 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


8*1 


too, since she went to the hospital. So if you’d be 
good enough, sir, to advance me a few dollars, it 
would serve me very much, for I have no other way 
now of paying for poor Winny. You needn’t be 
afeard, sir, for you know you can stop a dollar a 
week out of my wages till it’s paid up.” 

Mr. Coulter put his hands behind his back, and 
took a few turns around the small room, as was his 
wont when lost in thought. Con watched him anx- 
iously, fearing that he was about to refuse, and then 
what was he to do ? But not so, Mr. Coulter sudden- 
ly stopped short in front of Con, and said, rather 
sharply : 

“ And pray how long is this to go on ? — have you 
thought of that in your wisdom ?” 

Con’s voice was husky with emotion as he replied : 
“ It can’t last much. longer, sir. Either Winny will 
get better soon, or — or” — he could not finish the 
sentence, but turning away, took out his handker- 
chief, and pretended to use it, in order to conceal 
his tears. 

Mr. Coulter said nothing for a few minutes, but 
resumed his march as before. When he did speak 
there was something in his voice that told of some 
hidden feeling which his words belied. 

“ You, Irish,” said he, “are the most improvident 
people, I do believe, on the face of this habitable 
globe. Here, now, you might as well have placed 
Winny in the free hospital, and have saved your 
money and hers. But I see there is no such thing 


88 


CON o’reoan ; OR, 


as teaching yon prudence or economy — ^here is a ten 
dollar bill — go off now to your work, and say noth- 
ing of this to Mr. Pirns on Saturday night — that is, 
unless he speaks of it himself. Which is A*cry un- 
likely,” added the merchant to himself, “ inasmuch 
as he shall never know anything of it.” 

Con would have thanked his generous employer 
but his thanks were cut short with astern command 
to go about his business — there was no need of thanks. 

'Now the only time that Con could visit bis sister 
during the whole period of her illness, was just at 
dinner-hour, as there was no admission for visitors 
either early in the morning or late in the evening, 
and it was his practice on the days that he went to 
see her, to content himself with a few mouthfuls of 
anything he could get, in order to have time for his 
visit. On the day in question, he provided himself 
with a few crackers, and hurried away to the hos- 
pital as soon as twelve o’clock struck. How great 
was his joy to find Winny much better, and more 
cheerful than he had seen her since her removal to 
the hospital. She told him the doctor had just been 
there and had declared her decidedly better. “ lie 
says,” she added, “ that all I want now is care and 
proper nourishment. So you see. Con, I’m worth 
two dead people yet, though I know very well you 
were making up your mind this time back to let me 
go.” 

Her brother’s joy was too deep for words. He 
could only shake the emaciated hand held out to 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


8^ 


him, and squeezed it hard, hard. That moment re- 
paid him for all the sorrow, all the anxiety he had 
undergone, and he felt as if nothing could ever 
again make him repine, since there was a prospect 
of Winny being restored to him. 

‘‘And now,” said Winny, “ we may begin to talk 
again of getting Biddy out, and the children. With 
God’s help I’ll be round again, very soon, and when 
we both lay our heads together, we’ll get over this 
back-set. How much money have we now. Con?” 

How this was. a puzzling question, for Con did 
not like to tell his sister all at once that they were 
both penniless, and yet he knew not how to evade 
it, except by stating a falsehood, which he could not 
do on any account. To his great relief, he just 
then heard a neighboring clock strike one, and Con 
sprang up at once, saying : “ I’ll tell you some other 
time, Winny. Good-bye, now, and be sure you 
take good care of yourself, now that you’re on the 
mendin’ hand. I must be off to my work, for there 
it’s one o’clock.” 

As soon as Mr. Coulter returned to the ware, 
house after dinner. Con hastened to let him know 
the favorable change that had taken place in Winny, 
and, though the old gentleman spoke but few words, 
it was quite clear from his manner that he was well 
pleased to hear the news. 

From that day forward, there was a visible im- 
provement in Winny’s health, and in the course of a 
week she was able to sit up a little every day. Her 


90 


CON O^REGAN ; OR, 

recovery, however, was not very rapid, so that two 
week's more had elapsed before she was discharged 
from the hospital. Mrs. Bergen came on the day 
appointed for Winny’s removal, and helped to dress 
her as though she w^ere a little child. 

“And now,” said Winny, “that I’m ready to go, 
where am I to go to ?” She smiled as she spoke, 
but her smile was a sad one. 

“ Where would you go to,” retorted Nora, “ but 
to our house ? It’s a little more comfortable than 
it used to be, thanks be to God, an’ if you’ll just put 
up with it, you’ll be as welcome as if you were our 
own child. Not a Tvord now — not one word, but 
bid good-bye to the nurses and let us be off.” 

Opposition here would have been an unpardonable 
offence, as Winny knew very well, so she had no- 
thing for it but to do her friend’s bidding, and fol- 
low her down the stairs submissive as a little child. 
When the children came home from school in the 
afternoon, Mrs. Bergen sent Patsey to inform Con 
of his sister’s whereabouts, and when evening came 
he made his appearance, looking the very picture of 
contentment. 

“ Well, now,” said he, “if we only had Biddy and 
the children here, sure enough we’d be as happy as 
kings and queens.” 

“And maybe a great deal happier,” observed 
Winny ; “ riches can’t buy happiness any more than 
they can buy health. That’s one comfort for the 
poor.” Winny had never heard of the truism : 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 91 

“ Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown,” but she 
was well acquainted with the Christian axiom: 
“ Blessed are the poor in spirit,” and hence she 
never dreamed of envying the rich, nor of sighing 
for more than her allotted portion of earth’s goods, 
and assuredly her portion was a small one. 

“ I was just thinking of poor Tom Derragh,” said 
Paul ; “ what do you think, Con, but himself and 
Barney Brady are lyin’ in jail ever since that unfor- 
tunate dance. God help us for poor Irish,” he add- 
ed with a heavy sigh. “We’re foolish enough, 
there’s no denyin’ it, but then there’s no one to take 
a hard word off us — our failings are sure to be made 
the most of. If you’d just hear the people in the 
coort, the mornin’ that we were all tried, ay ! indeed, 
even the very lawyers, ridiculin’ the Irish, an’ some 
of them takin’ off our way of speakin’ to our very 
faces. But after all,” said Paul, thoughtfully, “ sure, 
isn’t it our own fault ? If we had only the proper 
sperit in us we wouldn’t lave ourselves in their power 
as we do.” 

“ That’s true enough,” said Con, “ but still there 
seems to be something in their mind against us. Do 
what we will, the most of them are down on us. 
And Paul, do you know what I was often thinkin 
since I came here ?” 

“ What’s that. Con ?” 

“ Why, that there must be some place where we 
could do better than we do here. You see how 
many strong, healthy Irishmen there are in this vei*y 


92 CON o’kegan ; or, 

city, wearing away their lives at hard work of every 
kind, an’ spending their money just as they make it 
— sometimes before it’s made — and living in holes 
and corners, wherever they can get a place to stick 
themselves and their families into ” 

“Just like us. Con,” said Paul, with a good-hu- 
mored smile, “ burrowin’ like rabbits down in the 
ground. But there’s thousands of our poor country 
people worse oft' even than we are,” he added, with 
much feeling. “ You haven’t seen them half as bad 
as they are. If you knew the state they’re in as well 
as I do, then you might talk. Why, there’s houses 
in this very city. Con, where there’s ten or twelve 
Irish families in one house, an’ not a very big house, 
either. An’ as for the drinkin’ and boozin’ and 
fightin’, that comes from there being so many of 
them cramped up together, there would be no use 
in me tryin’ to tell it to you, for I couldn’t. What 
you saw here in my mad fits was nothing at all in 
comparison. Dear knows, Con, there’s some great 
change wanted among us — however it may be 
brought about.” 

“ Why don’t some of you go to the country ?” in- 
quired Con ; “ wouldn’t you get w^ork out on the 
farms?” 

“Well, I suppose so,” said Paul, “but I know 
some that tried it, and they didn't seem to like it 
very well. The farms all round here belong to 
Americans, and wherever they can get their own to 
work for them, they’ll not have others. They’re no 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


93 


bettei friends to the Irish — ^these Yankee farmers— 
than the townspeople — and you see yourself how it 
is with them. God help us, I say again !” 

“ He will help us,” said Winny, softly, “ if we only 
try to help ourselves. W e mustn’t leave all to Him. 
I think, Con dear, it’s time you were moving home — 
Home !” she repeated, with a melancholy smile ; “ will 
you ever have a home ? — God only knows.” 

Con smiled and shook his head, but said nothing. 
“You must have one of some kind when Biddy 
comes out,” continued his sister. 

“Well, I suppose so,” said Con, in no very cheer- 
ful tone, as he shook hands with Mrs. Bergen and 
Paul. A heavy sigh escaped him, but he forced a 
short cough in order to conceal it, and told Winny 
he would come again on the following evening. 

All the way home he was thinking of what Paul 
had been saying, and he asked himself over and over, 
“ Isn’t it a hard fate to be toiling forever for other 
people, and never be putting anything by for the 
time to come ? If a body had a bit of land now — • 
ever so little — that he could call his own — then there 
would be some use in working — then every day’s 
work we did would be so much laid up for ourselves 
and our families. Isn't it a queer thing all out that 
so many shut themselves up in towns this way, 
where most of them never rise higher than day- 
laborers, and them all — one might say — used to a 
country-life at home I W^ell now, I declare, that 
must be the great reason that they don’t do well 


94 


CON O^REGAN ; OR, 


If God would only give me the chance of gettin* 
settled on a farm, I think I’d be a happy man 1” 

Full of these thoughts Con lay down on his cot« 
bed, after saying his prayers devoutly, and dreamed 
that he saw Biddy milking one of some half a 
dozen fine cows, while he himself was tnreshing 
wheat in a large barn. 



EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


95 


CHAPTER YI. 

The first opportunity that Winny got she renewed 
her inquiry after the money, and heard with sorrow 
that her brother’s little hoard was gone as well as 
her own. Hot that Winny cared about the money 
for its own intrinsic value, but because it delayed 
for an indefinite time the sending for Con’s wife and 
children. 

“Well, Con,” said she, after a pause, “ you wouldn’t 
take my advice, and put me in the free hospital. If 
you had, I’d have been just as well now, and we’d 
have had our penny of money safe. But sure I know 
you done it all for the best, and there’s no use fret- 
tin’ about what can’t be brought back. But tell me 
this. Con ?” she added, with newly-awakened anxiety, 
“ did you think of making an offering for the dead 
on All Souls’ Day ?” 

“ Indeed, then, I did, Winny ! — I gave lather 
Timlin a dollar with that intention, but you were so 
bad at the time that I didn’t care to say anything 
about it to you. Oh! bedad, it would never do, 
Winny, to forget them that carf^t do anything for 
themselves. If we did, we couldn’t expect others to 


96 CON o’regan ; or, 

remember us when it comes our turn to be in the 
fiery prison.” 

“ God bless you, Con, but it’s you that has ever 
and always the good thought! — I’m well pleased to 
hear that you did what you ought to do that day, 
and you may be sure you’ll be nothing the poorer 
of what you gave, at the year’s end.” 

Mrs. Bergen here came in with something which 
she had been purchasing at the market. It was Sa- 
turday evening, and she had to wait for Paul’s wages 
before she could go to make her purchases for Sun- 
day. Setting down her basket, she drew a long 
breath, observing, with a smile, as she shook hands 
with Con : 

“ It’s hard work that for a person that’s not very 
strong, but sure it’s thankful I am to have meat to 
bring home. But what’s become of Paul, Wiuny ?” 

“Oh! he’s gone to see about making up that money 
for Barney Brady’s family. He thought Saturday 
night was the best time to go out when the men 
would all be after getting their wages.” 

“An’ w'ho’s gone with him ?” asked Nora, in visi- 
ble trepidation. 

“Andy Dwyer he called him. He seems a very 
decent man.” 

“An’ so he is, Winny,” said Mrs. Bergen, with re- 
newed cheerfulness; “ there’s not much fear of Paul 
falling in with bad company so long as Andy Dwyer’s 
at his side. God forgive me ! I was afeard he had 
got in with some of the old set again! — Well, Con, 


emigpant life in the new world 91 

«rhat’s the news? Don’t you find this girl of ours 
lookin’ better than she did ?” 

“ Indeed, then, I do, Mrs. Bergen, she’s coming 
round nicely, thanks be to God. And after Him,” 
he added, with a meaning smile, “ I think there’s 
somebody else deservin’ of thanks. Well! well! I 
hope there’s a good time coming! — we’ll not be al- 
ways as far behind as we are now. But I believe 
it’s most time to be on the road.” 

“ Ah, then, sure you wouldn’t think of going. 
Con,” put in Mrs. Bergen, “ till you hear how Paul 
and Andy got along with their collection ; hut, tut, 
man, sit down — you’ll be time enough this hour yet !” 

Con was easily persuaded, being really anxious to 
hear the result of Paul’s charitable undertaking. 
All at once, Mrs. Bergen gave an exclamation of sur- 
prise : “ Why, Jane,” addressing her daughter, “ who 
in the world scrubbed the floor ?” 

' Why, indeed, mother, it was Winny that did it,” 
» cplied the little girl, who sat by the stove with the 
baby on her knee. “Baby woke up before you 
were long gone, and I had to sit under him ever 
since. So Winny went to work and scrubbed up 
the floor while a body would be lookin’ at it. I 
told her she’d catch it when you’d come back, but 
she wouldn’t heed what I said, only laughed at 
me.” 

This made Mrs. Bergen downright angry. “ Well, 
now, I tell you what it is, Winny O’Regan,” said 
she, with a bright glow on her still handsome fea- 


98 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


tures, “ if you had struck me across the mouth 
you couldn’t have given me a greater affront. 
Wasn’t it a purty thing now — I leave it to yourself! 
— to see a’ girl just only a few days out of the hos- 
pital goin’ down on her two knees to scrub a dirty 
cellar floor? I’m ashamed of you, Winny — that’s 
just what I am 1” 

In vain did Winny declare herself fully strong 
enough for the task she undertook, winding up with 
an assurance that she did not feel the least fatigued. 
Mrs. Bergen cut her short with : 

“ No matter for that — I tell you, it was a shame 
for you, and I’ll have the same scrubbin’ in my nose 
for you this many a day 1” 

Con enjoyed the fun amazingly, and laughed 
heartily at Mrs. Bergen’s good-natured scold. The 
debate was soon brought to a close, however, by 
the entrance of Paul and his friend Dwyer, who 
was, it seemed, purse-bearer on the occasion. 

Neither Paul nor Andy appeared in good spirits, 
which made the others fear to ask how they had 
succeeded, till at last Dwyer, having warmed his 
benumbed hands at the stove, began to turn out the 
contents of his pockets on the table, and Mrs. Ber- 
gen seeing the heap of silver assuming larger and 
larger proportions every minute, could contain her- 
self no longer — 

“ Why, then, I declare, but ye haven’t done so bad 
after all ?” she cried. 

“An’ who said wo did?” rejoined her husband, 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


99 


gruffly, as he took his place in front of the stove, 
leaving Andy to reckon the money. 

^‘Well, nobody mid it to be sure,” replied his 
wife, with a deprecating air, “but somehow both of 
you looked so down-hearted like, that I thought 
you didn’t do as well as you’d wish.” 

“ Oh ! in regard to the money,” said Andy, sus- 
pending his reckoning fc^ a moment, “ we have no 
reason to complain. I think you’ll all wonder when 
I have the amount calculated. No ! no! Mrs. Ber- 
gen, it was quite another thing made us down- 
hearted, as you say. If we didn’t dear buy that 
money no two men ever did. I never went out to 
collect before, at least in this country, and, upon 
my veracity, it’ll be long before I go out again — 
that is,” he added, “ unless something past the com- 
mon turns up. Tell them, Paul, all that happened, 
while I count this money.” 

“ What can I tell them,” said Paul, still in the 
same sulky humor, “ only that there isn’t such a 
curious set of people in the world wide as we are. 
Con O’Regan, I wish you had been with us this 
night, an’ then you’d see what I was often tellin’ 
you, that there’s plenty of Irish people in this very 
city just as poor as any in Ireland, an’ God knows, 
that’s say in’ enough for their poverty I We climbed 
up four and five pair of stairs this very night in 
twenty different houses, I’m sure and certain, divin’ 
into little dark rooms on every lobby where you’d 
scarcely see your hand, an* in every room of them 


100 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

was a family, some with five or six childreo; still 
the men were most of them at their suppers, an,* 
dear knows, there was hardly one but gave us less 
or more, though we could scarce bring ourselves 
to ask them for anything. Sometimes either the 
wife or the husband would grumble an* say they 
were poor enough themselves, but the other would 
put in with ‘ whisht, now, you miserly crature, we 
can give a little, an* we will, too, plase the Lord — 
every little helps — * ‘ If we don*t give,’ another 
would come out with, ‘ how can we expect to get?’ 
There we were these two mortal hours, from garret 
to cellar, an’ from cellar to garret, except just now 
an’ then that we’d happen on some dealer or store- 
keeper that lived on a level with the street.” 

“ I don’t know how you had the heart to ask 
charity from such poor creatures,” said Con, in a 
low, hesitating voice; “I think I couldn’t do it,” 
and he dashed away a trickling tear with the back 
of his hand. 

“Well, sure enough, we went into five or six 
places where we didrCt ask anything, only just made 
the best of our way out again, and there was one 
room, away up at the top of a great empty barrack 
of a house where we found a poor sick girl lyin’ on 
straw on the bare floor, an’ not a crature to mind 
her only her father who had just got in with a loaf 
of bread that he had been out for. There was two 
or three little weeny bits of children, the eldest of 
them not as big as Patsey there, an’ to see them 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


101 


poor things gatherin’ round the father when they 
saw the bread, an’ houldin’ up their little blue cold 
hands, — well ! well !” said Paul, trying to cough 
down his emotion, “ it was a sorrowful sight, sure 
enough, an’ so myself an’ Andy gave a quarter each 
to the poor heart-broken father, an’ made the best 
of our way down the four flights of stairs that we 
had climbed up. As ill-luck would have it, poor 
Andy missed his foot in the dark on one of the 
lower flights, an’ fell down half the stairs. It was 
just as much as he could do to come down here 
after, an’ only for that we’d have gone farther.” 

Andy was now besieged with anxious inquiries 
touching the amount of damage he had sustained, 
which was happily of no great consequence. 

“ ril never feel it,” said he, with a smile, “ when 
I’m one day in the grave. But how much money do 
you think we have ?” he added, brightening up as he 
glanced his eye over the rows of little piles, each 
containing a dollar. 

Each one might have easily ascertained the exact 
amount, but that would have been too tedious a 
mode of satisfying their benevolent curiosity, so they 
all asked eagerly “ How much is it ?” 

“Sixty-five dollars!” said Andy, slowly enunci- 
ating every syllable ; “ what do you think of that ? 
— and the most of it from those very garrets and 
cellars and little dark dens that Paul mentioned I” 
Winny and Con were loud in expressing their 
astonishment, but Mrs. Bergen seemed to take it as 


102 


CON O^KEGAN ; OR, 

a matter of course. She declared she had often seen 
larger collections taken up “ for no bigger charity 
than Anty Brady an’ her five children.” Though 
she didn’t deny but it was very well, considering the 
hard times that were in it. 

Con O’Regan sat listening with a half abstracted 
air to the remarks of those around him, till Winny, 
noticing his silence, smilingly said, “a penny for 
your thought, Con !” 

“ I was just thinkin’, Winny,” said her brother 
starting from his reverie, how little notion the peo- 
ple at home have of all this. They think if they 
once get to America that their hardship is all at an 
end, an’ that they’ll never know a day’s poverty 
again. What in the world can be the reason that 
none of those poor unfortunate creatures ever lets 
their friends at home know the state they’re in? 
I’m sure and certain if they did, there wouldn’t be 
one-tenth of the number cornin’ to America. They’d 
be better pleased to starve at home than in a strange 
country. I can’t make out why they don’t tell the 
truth.” 

“Ah! that’s the secret,” said Andy, as he busied 
liimself in making up the money in a neat parcel ; 
“ now, I tell you what my notion is. Its true 
enough what you were saying, that most every one 
comes out here with the expectation of making a 
fortune, because it’s a new country. Well, you see, 
when they find themselves disappointed, as many of 
them are, they’re ashamed to own it. They think 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


1G3 


it’s all right, at least they can bear their hardship the 
better, as long as it isn’t known at home, and that’s 
just the reason why they all keep the secret. For 
my part, I never did, or never will, encourage any 
one to come out. . When I’m writing home I always 
describe things just as they are. But what about 
this money, Paul; will you come with me to-morrow 
afternoon to give it to the poor woman that owns 
it ?” 

“ Any time you like,” said Paul, “ for I’m sure 
she’s badly in need of it. But, after all, now Andy, 
this temperance is tryin’ enough. If it was former 
times with me, you see, I wouldn’t let you out with- 
out a drop of something warm.” 

“ And I’m a thousand times better pleased to see 
things as they are,” returned Andy ; “ if you had a 
cask of liquor here I wouldn’t taste it. Good night 
to you all.” Turning back at the door, he gave 
Con and Winny a cordial invitation to go and see 
his “ old woman” on the following day, to which 
they both agreed. Con lingered a moment after 
Dwyer had left, to ask Paul who he was. 

“ He seems to be a very decent, sober man,” said . 
Con, “ an’ a well-discoorsed man, too.” 

“ Small thanks to him for that, anyhow,” replied 
Paul ; “ sure wasn’t he at school till he was man big. 
He got lamin’ for a priest, poor fellow, but somehow 
his people weren’t able to push him on, or else he 
began to find out that he had no likin’ for it ; so he 


104 CON o’regan; or, 

just married a wife, an’ came off Lere to America 
soon after.” 

“And how did he get along here ?” 

“ Poorly enough, Con ; poorly enough. He went 
out and worked on the railroad a while, just long 
enough to make him heartsick of it, and to leave him 
a rheumatis that he’ll never get the better of the 
longest day he has to live. At last he was cheated 
out of twenty or thirty dollars by a rascal of a con- 
tractor — an Irishman, too, and from his own county 
^and that finished all. He took such a disgust 
again railroads, that he thought he’d never get away 
soon enough from the business; and neither would he 
have got into town, dear knows when, if the men 
hadn’t made up a few dollars among themselves to 
take him and his sick wife and two little children in.” 

“And what does he do now ?” 

“ Oh ! he turned his hand to anything he could get 
to do for the first couple of years, but last May was 
a twel’month he got in as a storeman with some 
merchant in one of the main streets. He’s a very 
goad sort of a man — noways bigoted, Andy tells 
me — just such another as your master, Mr. Coulter, 
Ever since poor Andy manages to keep the wolf 
from the door — he has seven dollars a week, and, to 
a sober man like him, that’s enough to keep up his 
family.” 

“ But he can’t save anything out of it,” observed 
Winny ; “ so, if sickness came on him, or any acci- 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


105 


dent, he wouldn’t have the means of keeping his fa- 
mily for one week.” 

“ Save, indeed !” cried Paul, with a husky laugh ; 
“ I’d like to know where’s the workin’ man that can 
save money or have anything by him if he has a 
young family to support. No, no ! — there’s not 
much chance of that, God help us — we must only 
take things as they are, an’ not be frettin’ about the 
time to come.” 

“ By the laws !” said Con, starting from a reverie, 
“ it’s time I wasn’t here, anyhow. I’m sure it’s every 
minute of ten o’clock. Good night to you all!” 
Another moment, and he was hurrying on with rapid 
steps in the direction of his boarding-house. Late 
as it was the streets were still full of people, no 
longer propelling themselves with the bustling haste 
of business, but leisurely pacing the flagged sidewalks, 
generally in parties of two or more, enjoying the se- 
rene brightness of the cold winter moon. But Con 
O’Regan, contenting himself with a glance at the ra- 
diant orb far up in the azure dome of heaven, and 
heaving a sigh for “ the loved ones at home,” con- 
tinued his onward way. He had never been out so 
late since he had been a lodger of Mrs. Maloney’s, 
and he well knew that the good woman was most 
particular in regard to the hours kept by her board- 
ers. The only thing that induced him to slacken his 
speed for a moment was an appeal for charity, made 
occasionally at the corner of a street, or from the 
shelter of a projecting arch, in the familiar accents 


106 


CON o’rEGAN ; OR, 


of his own beloved land. To these appeals poor Con 
could never turn a deaf ear. True, he was accustom 
ed to hear sundry complaints, even from those who 
were disposed to sympathize with the Irish, that 
they were too ready to take up “ the begging tr 9 ,de,” 
and that such a propensity could only be ascribed to 
downright lazioess ; but, somehow, Con had a vague 
idea that there might be some other cause for this 
widespread evil. “ Begging,” thought he, “ can 
never be a pleasure to any one— at least at the first 
- — no one will ever begin to beg without some neces- 
sity, and God help them that has to turn to it in a 
strange country. I suppose there is some of them 
that stick to it of their own accord after a while, but 
that’s no reason that I’d refuse a copper to any of 
them when I have it about me, for, who knows, but 
it would be .them that was in the greatest distress 
that I’d refuse. At any rate, they’re most all of 
them Irish, and there’s enough to be hard on them 
without me, that’s their own flesh and blood 

He was just engaged in some such soliloquy, still 
hurrying on, when suddenly the tinkling sound of 
the fire-bell rang out from the nearest engine house, 
and the entire neighborhood was thrown into com- 
motion. Doors and w'indows were hastily opened,, 
and heads peered out in all directions. TLo people 
in the streets asked each other “ where oan the fire 
be ?” and for some time no one seemed to know. Aii 
length there was a cry of “ Coulter, T/ms & CV.— . 
it’s there the fire is 1” 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 101 

“ The Lord save us !” cried Con, “ is it our ware- 
house — what’s to be done at all, and Mr. Coulter 
living BO far off — he’ll be ruined entirely !” and off 
he ran at full speed to see if he could do anything 
that would serve Mr. Coulter, for in that moment 
of danger and anxiety Con’s grateful heart had no 
room for other than his benefactor. He had still a 
confused hope that the fire might not be in their 
premises after all, but on turning the corner of a 
street which nearly fronted the warehouse, his hopes 
were changed to dread certainty, for the flames 
were bursting from the windows on the second 
iStory. Two or three engines were already at work, 
and others were heard advancing in various direc- 
tions; the cries of the firemen, the ringing of their 
respective bells, and the loud vociferations of the 
dense crowd around, all conspiring to make the 
scene one of wildest confusion, and Con O’Regan 
was for a moment stunned by his own consternation 
and the terrific noise, momentarily increasing. 
Meanwhile the fire continued to increase, notwith- 
standing the almost superhuman exertions of the 
fire companies, and it was soon found that there 
was no chance of saving the building; the hose was 
thenceforward chiefly directed towards the adjoin- 
ing warehouses on either side of the narrow street, 
and the firemen observed with the utmost coolness 
that ‘‘ Coulter, Pirns & Co. had no chance.” The 
ladders were just withdrawn from the windows, and 
the building was almost a sheet of flame when the 


108 


CON o’rEGAN ; OR, 

agitated voice of Mr. Coulter aroused Con from hi# 
stupor. The old gentleman had but just arrived, 
and his quick eye at once perceived that he had 
nothing to hope. 

“I hope you are well insured, Mr. Coulter ?” said 
a gentleman who recognized the senior partner. 

“ Yes, yes, we’re all right there ; but there’s a 
large sum of money lying on my desk which I was 
too late to deposit yesterday — forgot to put in the 
safe — is there no possibility of reaching my office 
and he walked towards a door which opened directly 
from the office on a narrow alley. A thrill of joy 
flushed his pallid face — the door was yet safe, and 
no appearance of fire in that end of the building. 
Taking the key from his pocket, he was about to 
put it in the lock, when some of the firemen dragged 
him back, crying : 

“ Are you mad, mister ? The floor above that 
there office — if so be it is an office — is all in flames 
— it may fall any minute.” 

“ Then all is lost !” said Mr. Coulter, in a voice 
scarcely articulate. 

“Not yet, sir,” answered one from behind, and 
Con O’Regan stood at his master’s side ; “ give me 
the key, sir, and I’ll venture in !” 

A loud mocking laugh was heard on every side^ 
and Mr. Coulter hesitated to give the key. 

“ It would be death to you. Con, — certain death 
—no — no ! let it be as it is 1 better that than worse 1’' 

“ The key, sir, the key !” still persisted Con, and 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 109 

he literally forced it from Mr. Coulter’s grasp. 
Then making the sign of the cross on his forehead 
and breast, he breathed an inward ejaculation to 
Mary^ tlie help of Christians^ and dashing aside with 
giant strength those who would have held him back 
from what appeared certain destruction, he gained 
the little private door, the key turned in the lock 
obedient to his hand, and he stood a moment on the 
threshold almost suffocated with the smoke which 
burst forth in a dense volume. 

Blessed Mother !” cried Con ; “ I’ll never be able 
to see it — now or never help me till I save this 
money for my good master !” And he resolutely 
kept his ground at the door, notwithstanding the 
choking and blinding smoke. A moment and the 
almost palpable vapor cleared away, at least par- 
tially, so that Con could peer into the office, and 
sure enough on the desk lay a small parcel which he 
reached with a single bound, and thrusting it into 
his breast pocket, dashed, or rather threw himself, 
through the doorway, which he could no longer see, 
for the smoke rolled out thicker and darker than 
ever. Just as Con gained the open air, where he 
would have fallen exhausted to the ground had not 
Mr. Coulter caught him in his outstretched arms, 
the floor above the office gave way, and fell with a 
deafening crash. A wild shout rent the air when it 
was known that the venturous Irishman had es- 
caped, for such heroic devotion could not fail t<i 


110 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


elicit admiration even from a people who are ever 
unwilling to see or acknowledge Irish merit. 

‘‘ He’s a d d fine fellow!” cried one. 

“ I swear he’s a brick I” said another, “ though he 
is a Paddy 1” 

Leaving the mob to discuss the matter thus at 
their leisure, as they watched the decline, or rather 
the extinction of the fire, Mr. Coulter led Con 
gently out of the crowd to a place of comparative 
quiet. The brave fellow had not yet recovered 
himself after his violent exertion both of mind and 
body; his eyes were red and swollen, and he had 
still a choking sensation about the throat ; his mind, 
too, was somewhat confused, yet his hand mechani- 
cally clutched the precious parcel in the breast- 
pocket of his round pea-jacket, and his first act on 
regaining his consciousness was to hand it to Mr, 
Coulter, inquiring if that was the one he meant. 

“ It is. Con, the very one,” said his employer, in 
a voice trembling with emotion, while his pallid 
brow plainly denoted the excruciating anxiety of 
the last few minutes, “ but, indeed, indeed, I was 
quite willing to let it go, rather than have you en- 
danger your life I” 

“I know that well enough, sir,” replied Con, 
“ but I wasn’t afeard somehow of losin’ my life, for 
God an’ the Blessed Virgin were with me, an’ I 
owed you a good turn, sir, this many a day. Thank 
God, you have the money safe anyhow! I’ll be 


EMIGRANT. LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


Ill 


biddin’ you good nigbt now, Mr. Coulter 1” he 
added, as they reached that gentleman’s door. 

“ I would ask you in to take some refreshment, 
Con,” said Mr. Coulter, as he warmly shook his 
hand, “ only that one of my daughters has a fever^ 
which, I fear, is contagious. It would hardly be 
prudent for you to enter. Con O’Regan, you have 
rendered me a great service this night at the immi- 
nent peril of your life, and if I am spared you shall 
never want a friend — you shall find that old Sam. 
Coulter is not ungrateful !” 

Con replied that he had done nothing hut his 
duty, and bidding his master once more good night, 
he walked away with a lightsome heart. 



112 


CON o’regan : oa. 


CHAPTER VIL 

Early next morning there was a violent ringing 
at Mr. Coulter’s door-bell. After a short delay the 
door was opened by Mrs. Coulter herself, still in 
her nightcap, and looking as though she had been 
a watcher through the long hours of night. It was 
Mr. Pitns who stood without, and his anxious in- 
quiry for Mr. Coulter was responded to on the part 
of the lady by an invitation to walk in and sit down. 

“ I suppose you have heard of our misfortune, Mr. 
Pirns said Mrs. Coulter, in a listless tone. 

Oh ! of course — it was just about that I came 
this morning.^’ 

“ And you were not afraid to come in ?” inquired 
the lady, in unfeigned surprise. 

“AG.*aid? — why, certainly not! — what have I to 
fear?” 

“ Well, you know, some folk are dreadfully afraid 
of typhus fever — however, I am glad to find that, 
you are not of the number. Excuse me a moment 
- — I will apprise Mr. Coulter of your friendly visit. 
We have no help just now, as you may perceive, for 
neither of my girls could be induced to remain one 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 113 

day in the house, after the doctors had decided that 
poor Rachel had typhus. Then this unlucky fire 
happening at such a time — what a dreary world it 
is, Mr. Pirns ! — happily its tribulations cannot last 
forever!” 

Thus moralizing, she was about to quit the rOWii 
after opening the shutters, when Mr. Pirns started 
to his feet, or rather recovered the possession of 
those members before his hinder end had touched 
the chair. In two steps he reached the door lead- 
ing to the hall. 

“ Did I understand you right, Mrs. Coulter ?” he 
asked, in a loud, excited voice — “is there typhus 
fever in the house 

“ The doctors say so,” replied Mrs. Coulter, turn- 
ing round in some surprise ; “ I thought you said 
you knew.” 

“ Oh ! I meant the fire — good morning, Mrs. Coul- 
ter ! — don’t trouble yourself to go up stairs — I can 
gee Mr. Coulter at another time — good morning !” 
and fearful of being delayed by further interroga- 
tion, he hastily made bis retreat. 

Mrs. Coulter, musing on the selfishness of the 
world, and heaving a sigh for the promised millenium 
of universal charity, was passing, as it were, me- 
chanically through the folding doors into the back- 
parlor, when she was electrified by the apparition 
of her husband standing right in ihe doorway. Hs 
was evidently chuckling ovei some humo>* 05 ifi 


114 CON o’iir.GAN ; or, 

thought, and greeted his grave helpmate with a nod 
and a smile. 

“So you’ve frightened him off,” said he ; “if you 
had laid a plan to get rid of him this morning, Pru 
dence, you couldn’t have succeeded better. Being a 
spiritual brother of yours, my dear I suppose you 
counted on him in this emergency.” 

“ Me count on him, Mr. Coulter ? I did no such 
thing. I hope I can make allowance for human frail- 
ty, though I confess I did not expect to find Mr. 
Pirns quite so selfish.” 

“ Selfish, Prudence!” repeated her husband ; “ why, 
how can you talk of selfishness in such a case ? You 
who but a few weeks since sent a faithful servant to 
an hospital as fast as you could get her out of the 
house, and all for fear of a certain infectious disease 
from which the poor girl was as free as you yourself 
were. For shame, Mrs. Coulter! don't reflect on 
poor Pirfiis for a failing to which we are all prone 
— the godly as well as the ungodly. But how is 
poor Rachel this morning? I was in to see her as I 
passed, but she seems in a kind of slumber. Han- 
nah was sitting by her, and she looks as though she 
were hardly able to hold up her head, poor thing.” 

“Ho more she is, Samuel. I fear she will be the 
next struck down, though indeed I feel very poorly 
myself,” and she placed her hand on her high narrow 
forehead. 

“ But what about Rachel— do you think she is any 
better ?” 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


115 


“Not miicli — if any!” replied the fond mother; 
“ dear child, what is to become of her should I sink 
under this load of trouble and fatigue? Doctor 
Kichards promised to send a sick-nurse last evening, 
but you see there has none come, and here am I try- 
ing to do all myself! What an ungrateful hussy that 
Leah was to leave me at such a time ! — bad as the 
Irish are, Winny would scarce have acted so, at least 
she could not have acted worse. That was not what 
I expected from a respectable. God-fearing girl like 
Leah !” 

“ Oh I of course not, my dear I but you see it’s just 
as I told you before — typhus fever has no attractions 
even for the elect — your religious people are always 
praying for ‘kingdom come,’ but they never want 
it near at hand. If they were sure of going to 
heaven right off in a hand-basket they would rather 
stay here and pray for it. By Jove ! they would so ! 
■ — never expect one of them, then, to face typhus fever 
or any other fever that might send them across the 
bourne into the other world. But get me a cup of 
coffee, Prudence, as soon as you can, and I’ll sally 
out in quest of a nurse. Unfortunately I have no 
business to attend to to-day, except to pay some bills 
which I may thank Con O’Pegan for being able to 
do.” 

“Why, what do you mean?” cried the anxious 
wife, stopping short in her quick march towards the 
kitchen where Hannah had made a fire some time be- 


116 CON o’regan ; or, 

fore ; “ what has Con O’Regan to do with jont 
bills?” 

“ He has everything to do with them on the pre* 
sent occasion,” was the calm reply, and then the 
warm-hearted old gentleman proceeded to give his 
wife a brief account of Con’s generous devotion on 
the previous night. Mrs. Coulter listened with a 
look of blank astonishment, and when she had heard 
all, she heaved a heavy sigh. 

“ Well, Prudence !” said her husband, “ what do 
you think of Con, now ? — T think I shall have a 
knock-down argument for the future when fighting 
the battles of the Irish ! — ha ! ha ! ha ! let me catch 
Pirns or Wood coming out with their little narrow 
prejudices, and, by my word ! they shall hear it in 
both ears !’ 

“ He must be a smart fellow that O’Regan !” was 
Mrs. Coulter’s comment, as she left the room on 
culinary purpose bent. 

“ He must be a smart fellow that O’Regan !” re- 
peated the husband, mimicking the peculiar tone 
and accent of his wife. “ Ah ! you’re a precious 
set of heartless hypocrites, you canting saints ! not 
a particle of generpus feeling in your icy breasts ! 
Heaven help the warm-hearted, impulsive, enthusi- 
astic race who will persist in toiling for such a 
people — a people so obstinately prejudiced against 
them, so diametrically opposed to them in every 
characteristic feature. But I, at least, will do them 
justice — ay !' and what is more, I will bring Madam 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


117 


Coulter to give them a portion of their merit before 
I am many months older !” 

Whilst his breakfast was in preparation, the affec- 
tionate old man ascended to the sick room of his 
daughter, whom he found still in the same feverish 
slumber, with her cheeks like two damask roses, 
her eyes half open, and her breathing short and 
irregular. Making up the small hand which lay 
outside the bedclothes, he found it dry and burning, 
and his heart sank within him. Turning to Han- 
nah, who had been watching him with scrutinizing 
eyes, he shook his head and murmured : 

“Your sister is very low, Hannah! — very low, 
indeed! — but this sleep may do her good.” His 
heart was full as he glanced again at the unconscious 
sleeper, then whispering to Hannah to take good 
care of her sister and that he would find some one 
to relieve her, he hastened to place the door be- 
tween him and an object that harrowed his very 
soul. 

“ Now if Con should venture in after all,” was 
Mr. Coulter’s soliloquy, as he tramped heavily down 
the stairs, and when he heard a modest, hesitating 
ring at the door, just as he had seated himself at 
the table, he said exultingly to his wife, when return- 
ing from the door she announced Con : 

“ There now. Prudence, you see Con O'Regau 
comes in spite of the fever — I knew he would. 
Con,” he called out, “ won’t you come inside ?” 

“No, sir, thank you, I’d rather stay here,” r& 


118 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

plied Con, from the hall. “ I just called, Mr, 
Coulter, to see how the young lady is this mornin’, 
an* to know if you’d have anything for me to do — 
but I’m in no hurry, sir. I’ll wait as long as you 
like.” 

“ Have you got your breakfast, Con ?” was the 
next question. 

“ Oh, yis, sir, I got my breakfast an hour ago.” 

“ Very well, Con, I’ll be out with you as soon as 
I take a cup of coffee.” 

Mrs. Coulter hastily swallowed a few mouthfuls of 
the grateful beverage, maintaining the while a dig- 
nified silence, and muttering something about Ra- 
chel, she left the room, reminding her husband to 

be sure and see after the nurse.” 

“ And that same is no trifling task,” said Mr. 
Coulter ; “ but something must be done, as this good 
doctor of ours seems to take the thing so coolly.” 

“How, Con,” said Mr. Coulter, as he took his hat 
from the stand in the hall, “ I want you to bring me 
to the house where Winny boards.” 

Con looked surprised, but he answered promptly, 
“ An’ to be sure, I will, sir, though indeed it’s not a 
place for the likes of you — it’s down in a cellar, sir, 
in Hope street here beyond.” 

“ That is of no consequence,” said Mr. Coulter. 
“ I wish to see Winny, so just go ahead, will you ?” 

Con said no more, and the pair walked on in silence, 
Con always managing to keep a few feet ahead of 
his employer, deeming it disrespectful to walk by his 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEWWORLD. 


119 


Bide. After winding through several streets of that 
much intricate and mazy city, Con turned into Hope 
street, which was once inhabited by the upper 
classes, until the Irish having obtained a settlement 
there, they were, as is usual in New England cities, 
speedily left to themselves. It has gradually be- 
come a sort of Irish colony, in the heart of the Pu- 
ritan city. Its inhabitants are principally, indeed al- 
most exclusively, of the humbler classes, most of 
Avhom are dependent on their daily labor for the 
means of living. The street is literally swarming 
with inhabitants, many of the houses being very large, 
and all crowded from garret to cellar. 

As Mr. Coulter gazed on the troops of little ragged 
children sporting at every door, in the happy care- 
lessness of their age, and watched their fresh rosy 
faces, and the precocious intelligence of their shy, 
startled glances, his kind heart was touched to its 
very core. “ Merciful Heaven !” said he, gaining 
Con’s side, by a double step or two, what a popu- 
lation there is here — a population fit for anything I 
here they are, living by hundreds in squalid pov- 
erty, scarce knowing to-day how they may live to- 
morrow 1 what can infatuate them so ?” 

“ What can they do, sir ?” said Con, respectfully. 

“ Do ! why let them go out and scatter over the 
country — there are millions of broad acres within the 
territory of this Republic, awaiting the woodman’s 
axe and the tiller’s spade — lands which could be had 
for a very small purchase. Now your people are 


120 


CON o'regan ; OR, 

mostly given to agricultural pursuits at home, and it 
is strange that they do not make an effort to get 
farms here.” 

Con listened with intense interest, and caught 
eagerly at Mr. Coulter’s proposition concerning the 
waste lands. “ Why, sir,” said he, “ these are the 
lands, I suppose, that we used to hear so much about 
at home. Where are they, if you please, sir? — I 
thought all the country round here was settled, and 
the land taken up long ago.” 

“ So it is, Con,” said Mr. Coulter, smiling ; “ but 
the lands I mean are away out West in some of the 
new States, such as Wisconsin, Towa and others. 
In fact, there are vast tracts of country still unoccu- 
pied in all the Western States.* But the trouble 
is,” he added, musingly, how could those poor peo- 
ple get there, or, being there, how could they live 
till such times as they had cleared enough of land to 
raise crops ? If they had only the means of living 
for one year ! the thing I fear is hopeless !” he con- 
cluded, with a heavy sigh. 

Here Con stopped in front of a four-story house 
which might once have been the handsome residence 
of some wealthy merchant. The cellar into which 
Con led his employer had been lately whitewashed, 

*The reader must remember that this refers to a period ten 
years back. Unfortunately the same could not be said now. 
The Western States will very soon be as thickly settled as any 
in the Union. 


UMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


121 


End presented an appearance of comparative neat- 
ness and comfort. 

At the moment of Mr. Coulter’s arrival, Winny 
was making up the beds while Mrs. .Bergen sat by 
the stove dressing the baby, now, like its mother, 
much fresher and fairer than when we first saw 
them. A general commotion followed the an- 
nouncement of the children that “there was a gen- 
tleman cornin’ down the steps with Con O’Regan,” 
and Winny came forward just in time to receive Mr. 
Coulter with a curtsey and a smile, her face all in 
a glow with pleasure and surprise. But Mr. Coulter 
refused to go further than the door, saying, with 
characteristic bluntness : 

“ I suppose you haven’t heard of Rachel’s illness ?” 

“ Indeed, I did hear of it, sir,” replied Winny ; 
“ Con told me last night, an’ heart sorry I was to 
hear it, too. Is there any change for the better this 
mornin’ ?” 

“Not the least sign of change, Winny,” said Mr. 
Coulter, sadly, “ and I do not expect any for some 
time. Winny,” he added, abruptly after a short 
pause, “ are you afraid of fever ?” 

Winny’s pale cheek grew a shade paler, and her 
voice trembled perceptibly as she replied : “ Well ! 
sir, I can’t say but what I am — there’s no use in 
sayin* what’s not true — hem !” clearing her throat 
vigorously, “ but if it was God’s will for me to be in 
Dhe way of it, I hope He’d give me strength to do 
my duty.” 


122 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


“ Winny,” said Mr. Coulter, “ I came hers to ask 
a great favor of you — will you come and take care 
of Rachel till she gets better — or — his voice fal- 
tered, but Winny came to his relief: 

“I’ll go, Mr. Coulter — I will, sir, if I was sure of 
takin’ the fever myself. Miss Rachel shan’t want 
some one to mind her while I’m able to do it.” As 
she spoke, her cheek had an unnatural glow, and her 
eyes flashed with unwonted brightness. Winny 
was making a desperate effort, for, in her heart, she 
had the full measure of terror wherewith the Irish 
peasantry regard typhus — or “ the fever,” as they 
emphatically call it. But still, within the deep re- 
cesses of that generous heart, there was a sensible 
emotion of joy and gratitude that she was at last 
enabled to show her kind old master how deeply she 
felt his goodness to herself and her brother. She 
glanced at Con, whose ruddy cheek had become 
almost as bloodless as her own during the foregoing 
brief colloquy. His eyes were full of tears, and he 
stood leaning against the door-post, with a counte- 
nance expressive of strong inward emotion. Mrs. 
Bergen, in her turn, called out, in a raised and ex- 
cited tone : 

“ Why, the Lord bless me, Winny, sure ymt can’t 
take upon you to mind the young lady, an’ you only 
jist gettin’ up yourself, as a body may say, from a 
sick bed ? Depend upon it, Winny, you’d be knocked 
down yourself before one week went over your head. 
Hut, tut, girl, don’t be makin’ a fool of yourself, un* 


EMIGRANT I.IFE IN THE NEW WORTJ). 


123 


dertakin’ what you’re no more fit for than this child 
on my knee !” 

“What do you say, Con/” inquired Mr. Coulter, 
suddenly turning to Con, whose silence struck him 
as remarkable. “You see I didn’t tell you what I 
wanted with Winny — I knew you would hear it 
soon enough. Do you think it advisable for Winny 
to undertake this office?” 

“ Well ! I don’t know, sir,” said Con, slowly, with 
his eyes still fixed on his sister’s face, — “ if there 
could be any one else got. I’m afeard she’s hardly 
strong enough — but then if there’s no one else to do 
it, why, of course, I’m not the man to advise her 
again it. We owe you a debt of gratitude, Mr. 
Coulter, and with God’s help, it must be paid.” 
Still he turned away, and took out his red handker- 
chief. 

Mr. Coulter said not a word, but he took Winny’s 
hand and then Con’s in both his, and pressed them 
with almost convulsive energy, while the tears fell 
unheeded from his eyes. 

Making a sign to Mrs. Bergen, who was about to 
put in another remonstrance, Winny told Mr. Coul- 
ter that she would go to his house just as soon as 
she could get her little things in readiness, with 
which assurance he was perfectly satisfied, and went 
away, followed by Con, who hastily shook hands 
with Winny, and bade her farewell in a tone of 
touching sadness, as though he feared he was resign- 
ing her to almost certain death. Winny endeavored 


124 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


to re-assure liim with the whispered words : “ God 
is good, Con — He never failed us in our need, an* 
neither will He now !** 

“ It*s true for you, Winny, an’ it’s weak faith that’s 
in me or I’d have thought of that before.” And so 
saying Con O’Regan bounded up the steps after his 
employer with a lighter heart and a more hopeful 
spirit. Hever was faith more strong, never was 
piety more cheerful than in the soul of the genuine 
child of Erin as yet uncontaminated by the pesti- 
lential breath of worldly skepticism inhaled in foreign 
climes. Nurtured in the religious atmosphere of an 
eminently Christian land, faith is from the beginning 
the sensible basis of all their actions — by its light 
they are wont to steer their course, by its strength 
they are raised above the storms of fate, and by its 
sweetness they are consoled in the unexampled 
misery which is too often their lot. 

No sooner had Con disappeared in the wake of his 
employer than Winny was assailed by a shower of 
friendly abuse from Mrs. Bergen, while the children 
set up a cnorus of lamentation at the prospect of 
losing Winny. The former, and more formidable 
assailant Winny silenced with an appeal to Mrs. Ber- 
gen’s own feelings. 

“Now, Mrs. Bergen, dear, what makes you talk 
that way ? — you know as well as I do that if you 
were in my place, free to go where you like — with- 
out chick or child, or one in the Avorld,” here her 
Voice faltered, as the remembrance of her recent loss 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


125 


crossed her mind, “ without one in the world only 
just Con, that’s well able to do for himself, an’ with 
such a load of obligation on you as I have — you know 
right well that you’d go yourself with a heart an’ a 
half. An’ so will I, please God, if I were to lose my 
life for it. Maybe I’d never die in a better time, 
anyhow.” 

Mrs. Bergen was at last obliged to give in, and 
the children’s clamorous wailing was speedily and 
effectually stopped by the promise of “ lots of candy” 
when Winny came again, “an’ God knows when 
that’ll be,” she added in an under tone, as she hastily 
made a bundle of the few things she intended taking 
with her. 

About half an hour after, Winny O’Began bade 
farewell to her faithful friend, who could not restrain 
her tears as she held up the baby for her to kiss. 
The other children from Jane down to little Jim all 
gathered round her, each claiming a special “good- 
bye,” and Winny had no small trouble in extricating 
herself from their affectionate grasp as they hung 
around her. On reaching the door she turned and 
said once more; “Good bye, Mrs. Bergen, give my 
best respects to Paul, and tell him if I live I’ll not 
forget either of you. If I die — why I’ll remember 
you in heaven — when I get there. Pray for me Mrs. 
Bergen, an’ make the children pray, too.” 

Mrs. Bergen would have answered with a fervent 
promise, but Winny was already gone. She repaired 
at once to Mr. Coulter’s. Having rung the bell with 


126 


CON o’regan ; Oft, 

an unsteady hand, she waited patiently for a few 
minutes, not venturing to ring a second time, when 
the door was opened by Mrs. Coulter, who, on seeing 
her there with her bundle in her hand, manifested 
some surprise. 

“ Why, Winny, is it possible that you are coming 
back ? — I really thought you were still in the hospi- 
tal. Do come in !’* 

Winny entered accordingly, saying as she did so : 

InTo, ma’am, it’s three weeks to-day since I left the 
hospital.” 

“ Why, do tell ! — I’m surprised that Mr. Coulter 
never told me.” It was not at all surprising, how- 
ever, for the good lady had never onoe asked for 
Winny within the time specified. 

“ And so you are come to stay.” Winny answered 
in the affirmative. 

“ Well ! I must say it is rather fortunate that you 
came just now, for I have no help at present — Leah 
is gone some days ago, and dear Rachel is very sick 
indeed. Just go up to your own room and put 
away your things — I hope you have washed them 
before you came.” 

Winny colored deeply and said : “I’d do that for 
my own sake, Mrs. Coulter. I’m sure you never 
found me with my clothes dirty.” 

“ Oh! not at all, Winny — of course I do not mean 
that. But you know there are some of those low 
Irish lodging-hoilses anything but clean.” 

Winny broke in rather abruptly and with an unu 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


12T 


final degree of warmth : “ I wasn’t in a lodging-house, 
ma’am, beggin’ your pardon — an’ though it was in a 
cellar in Hope street I was, there was no dirt in it 
to harm any one’s clothes.” 

“ Oh ! I dare say not !” said Mrs. Coulter, with an 
equivocal smile ; at all events, go up stairs and take 
off your tilings. I suppose you have had your break- 


fast.” 


Winny answered in the affirmative and then slowly 
ascended the stairs, 



128 


CON o’reoan : OB, 


CHAPTER yilT. 

Lbavinq Winny to the assiduous and conscientious 
discharge of her self-imposed task, sustained in her 
perilous position by the grace of God, and her own 
strong sens^ of gratitude, let us penetrate once again 
into the comfortless dwellings of Hope street. It 
was a small, dingy room, on the fourth story of a 
house which was once a private mansion, the abode 
of wealth and taste, but now “ fallen from its high 
estate,” and sheltering as many families as it con- 
tained rooms — the spacious apartments of former 
dayshaving been long since divided and subdivided 
to suit the scanty means of the present class of oc- 
cupants. The room was scantily furnished, having 
but one poor, crazy-looking bedstead, covered over 
with a clean, but faded patchwork quilt, some three 
or four chairs, one of which was fearfully ricketty, 
and a good-sized table of unpainted deal. There 
were also a couple of wooden stools, or crickets^ as 
they are called in the place, and on one of these sat 
a young woman, whose vacant look, ever and anon 
raised towards the light burning on the table, told a 
sad tale of visual darkness. She was neatly, though 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


129 


poorly clad, and was busily employed knitting a 
woollen stocking, her long, thin fingers plying the 
needles with surprising agility, acquired, doubtless, 
by long habit. She could not be more than twenty- 
one or two, though the sombre melancholy arising 
from her solitary and helpless state, cast a gloom, as 
of many additional years, on her otherwise pretty 
lace. JSTear her lay a young infant in a cradle, which 
she kept rocking with her foot, trolling ever in an 
under tone a wild, mournful air. On the floor by 
her side sat a little gentle-looking girl of four or five 
years old, while a bold, strong boy some few years 
older, was whetting a piece of stick in a corner be- 
hind the stove. At a first glance one might sup- 
pose that the young woman was the mother of the 
children, but such was not the case, for when she oc- 
casionally suspended her ditty in order to call them 
to order, they answered her by the name of Peggy. 
But it was not often that she spoke, for her soul 
seemed oppressed by some heavy sorrow, and she 
sat, apparently wrapped up in her gloomy imagin- 
ings, though there was noise enough in the room to 
distract any mind less collected than her own. At 
the table, within four or five feet of where she sat, 
were seated some three or four men, with a capa- 
cious black bottle before them, from which they oc- 
casionally replenished their glasses. As yet there 
was none of the party actually intoxicated, although 
they were all what is ealled “ half-seas over.” In 
their dress, and they were all dressed pretty nearly 


130 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

alike, the men were a singular compound of the la* 
borer and the seaman, with a mixture, too, of the 
peculiar characteristics of each class in their speech 
and manners. More or less prominent in each was 
the frank, good-natured bearing of the sailor, with 
much of his swart and sun-browned color. One of 
them was an old acquaintance, Tom Derragh, who, 
with his fellow prisoner, Barney Brady — his host on 
the present occasion — had got out of jail some few 
weeks before, their term of imprisonment being at 
last ended. Their two companions were ’longshore- 
men — or ship-porters like themselves, men after their 
own hearts, who ever acted on the principle of chas- 
ing “ dull care away,” w^ho made it a rule, like the 
grasshopper in the fable, to sing and be merry while, 
they might, leaving the morrow to shift for itself. 
Yet these were men who had from nature both 
energy ^nd activity to carry out useful and laudable 
purposes — they were gifted with the full measure of 
personal strength, and had courage to brave all 
earthly ills — but, alas 1 they were cursed with the 
improvident, careless spiritywhich has been the ruin 
of myriads of their race, numbers of whom might 
have gained an honored place in society, and be- 
queath ample fortunes to their children, were it not 
for that fatal blight. True it is that, like the vast 
majority of their countrymen, these gay, rollicking 
’longshoremen w^ere — 


More fit to practice than oo plan,” 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 131 

else they would long before have discovered that 
they were on the wrong track, and must needs ‘‘tack 
about” if they would have anything to support them 
in their declining years, or to bequeath to their 
families after them, for, unfortunately, they were all 
husbands and fathers, with the exception of Tom 
Derragh. But left to their own guidance, they fol- 
lowed their own natural and acquired instincts, and 
followed them to their ruin, as many have done 
before, and, in all probability, many will again. 

They had been talking in a reckless, mocking 
way of Brady’s and Derragh’s recent imprisonment. 
That naturally led to Phil McDermot, who was 
generally voted a “ low lived rascal,” for the fact of 
his refusing to contribute towards the expenses of 
Peter Bergen’s funeral had been one of the first com- 
municated to Tom and Barney on their leaving the 
jail. 

“By japers !” cried Tom Derragh, “it will be ten 
times as much out of his pocket before Pm a year 
older. If it wasn't for him and his dance Barney 
and myself wouldn’t have got into limbo as we did, 

but what would we care — no by ,” swearing a 

strange and novel oath too fearful to be repeated — 
“ I wouldn’t care a chaw of tobacco, if the fellow was 
what he ought to be — if he had the least mite of a 
heart, the ungrateful blubber !” 

The sentiment was echoed all round, but the gen* 
eral indigoation wherewith McDermot was justly 
regarded was unhappily extended in a measure, at 


132 


CON o’rkgan ; OR, 


least, to Paul Bergen, who had forfeited the sym- 
pathy of his former associates by his recent adop* 
tion of sober habits. 

“ He’s not the stuff after all,” said Barney Brady, 
draining his glass, an example which the others were 
not slow to imitate ; “ if he was, he wouldn’t be led 
by the nose as he is. I took him to be a first-rate 
fellow, an’ never expected to see him said and led 
by his wife ” 

“ I wish to God there was more than Paul Bergen 
said and led by their wives — many a broken heart it 
would save, and many a poor family that’s in the 
height of misery might then be happy and comfort- 
able ! If Paul Bergen hadn’t left off drinkin’ when 
he did, he wouldn’t have a wife now to be advised 
by. Shame on you, Barney Brady ! is it you that 
talks that way of Paul Bergen, becase he took him- 
self up in lime from his evil ways, and took the 
heavy warnin’ that God gave him 1 Yourself made 
a promise only a week ago that you’d do as he did, 
and shun liquor altogether — is this the way you’re 
keepin’ it?” 

It was the blind girl who spoke, and her words, 
sharp and bitter for her who was naturally quiet and 
reserved, made a visible impression on her rough but 
kindly hearers. None of them spoke for a moment, 
but sat looking on each other in blank surprise. 

“ As for Tom Derragh,” said Peggy, and there was 
a slight tremor in her voice, “ there’s no use talkin’ 
to him. I suppose w^e may give him up altogether.” 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN IHE NEW WORLD. 


183 


Tomwas quite unmanned by this most unlooked-for 
attack. His color came and went, he pushed the glass 
from before him, and narrowly escaped upsetting the 
late “ centre of all hearts” — the black bottle. Then 
drawing his chair hastily from the table, he said, 
after some ineffectual attempts to speak : 

“ Why, Peggy Bawn, you’re cornin’ out strong, 
mavourneen! — why didn’t you say all this before, 
an’ not be keeping it all locked up in that queer little 
heart of yours ? Now, you know well enough that 
I’m not half so bad as you’d make it appear. Come 
now, Peggy, tell the truth !” 

I know,” said Peggy, after a short pause, “ that 
you’re not half so bad as yourself makes it appear; 
but for all that, you can’t deny that you’re one 
of the foolishest gomerils in this city. If you 
weren’t, it isn’t sittin’ there boozin’ and drinkin’ 
you’4 be, and you only just gettin’ out of a jail. If 
you go on a little longer in the w'ay you’re doin’. I’m 
afeard, if God hasn’t said it, you’ll come to worse 
than that. But, sure, after all, there’s some of them 
far worse than you are, becase they have others de- 
pendin’ on them, which you have not.” 

“ Well, if I haven’t I ought !” said Tom, with deep 
feeling, “ and it’s your own self knows that well, my 
poor girl ! But there’s a good time cornin’, Peggy 
dear— it’s never so dark, you know, as when it’s near 
day.” 

« Talk’s cheap, Tom,” was Peggy’s curt reply, as 


134 


CON o’rkgan ; OR, 


ghe resumed her knitting with increased assiduity as 
though to make up for lost time. 

“I know what you mean, Peggy,” said Tom, now 
thoroughly sobered, “ but to let you see that I can 
act as well as talk, I’ll not taste another drop this 
night. Will that please you 

“Oh! then, indeed, it’s not hard to please wze,” 
said Peggy, in her quietest manner. “ Whatsom- 
ever pleases God is sure to please me.” This was 
said in a tone of good reserve, which showed pretty 
clearly that Peggy desired no farther conversation 
at that time, and her wish was evidently law both to 
Tom and Barney. The latter was Peggy’s brother- 
in-law, being the husband of her only sister, with 
whom she had come to America some five or six years 
before. Her connection with Tom, and the power- 
ful influence which she seemed to exercise over him, 
notwithstanding her pitiable helplessness, was a 
mystery to most of their acquaintance, and many a 
biting sarcasm it gave rise to, at Tom’s expense. 
These unkind remarks, however, were generally 
made in his absence, for there were few of his asso- 
ciates, reckless as they were, who cared to arouse 
his ire, and it was fully understood by all who knew 
him intimately, that if he was sensitive on any one 
point it was on Peggy Daly’s misfortune, and so 
great was his respect for her that none might dare 
to mention her with levity in his presence. In fact, 
Peggy’s virtues were such as to command respect 
from all who knew her, and inasmuch as she had a 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 135 

firmer and more vigorous mind than her sister Anty 
BO her opinion had more weight with Barney than 
that of his wife, who was apt, at times, to let her 
temper get the better of her reason. 

When the brief colloquy between Tom and Peggy 
was brought to a close, Barney cleared his throat 
once or twice, and said, with a significant glance at 
his companions beyond the table : 

“ Blood alive, Peggy, sure you wouldn’t be so 
hard on us all out? Now, you know well enough 
I didn’t taste a drop good or bad since last week — 
exceptin’ the glass a day that I left myself liberty 
to take — an’ sure isn’t it Ned and Jack here that 
wanted to trate Tom and myself— how could either 
of us get over takin’ a little then ?” 

“ A little I” repeated Peggy, with scornful em- 
phasis. “ If you could any of you stop with a little, 
sorry I’d be to say, one word to you about it, but 
you know you never stop at a little. Now just let 
me alone, all of you, for it doesn’t become a poor 
dark crature like me to be talkin’ up this-a-Way to 
men that ought to know their own affairs better 
than me.” 

There now,” said Tom, in an under tone, “ you 
see there’s no reasonin’ cases with her. Take my 
advice and let her alone.” 

“ I b’lieve you’re right,” said Barney, in the same 
tone, and he handed over the bottle to Ned and 
Jack, making a sign for them to fill their glasses. 
As for himself he followed Tom’s example, not* 


136 


CON o’kegan ; OR, 

withstanding the pressing invitation of the others, 
made partly by signs and partly by whispers. See- 
ing how matters stood, they very soon took up 
their hats and went away, Ned telling Barney when 
he accompanied them to the stair-head, “ that ’ere 
girl’s a witch, take my word for it.” 

“ She has bewitched Tom, at any rate,” responded 
Jack. Barney laughed, but said nothing, for his 
wife just then appeared on the landing-place below, 
and he hastily retreated into the room, glad to get 
quit of the two before Anty got back. Little did 
he suspect that she had been in search of Andy 
Dwyer, for whom she knew he had a high respect, 
hoping that his presence would have the effect of 
“ scattering the school,” as she said to herself, “ and 
a hopeful school it is — my heavy curse on the day 
inlucky Barney Brady got in with such company !” 

“ Why, what’s in the wind, now ?” said Anty, 
throwing the door open, and casting a hurried 
glance around, the scowl still on her brow, but a 
smile on her thin lips ; “ I met two of the black 
sheep on the stairs abroad — is the bottle empty, 
Barney, or what’s come atwixt you ?” 

Rushing to the table she seized the bottle and 
held it up between her and the light, but to her 
great surprise it was still half full. Then she 
turned and took a leisurely survey of Barney and 
Tom, but neither of them was “ the worse for 
liquor.” 

“ Well, I declare, that’s curious,” said she, with 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 131 

another glance at the bottle ; “ I think it’s drainin’ 
I am, sure enough.” 

Barney only laughed, and evidently enjoyed his 
wife’s amazement, but Tom hastened to reply, and 
said it was all along of Peggy, “ for all she sits 
there knittin’ her stockin’ as mute as a mouse.” 

“ Ha ! ha I” laughed Anty, as she proceeded to 
take off her cloak and bonnet, which she hung on 
a pin behind the door, contiguous to an old tarpau- 
lin hat of Barney’s. “ Ha ! ha ! Peggy, honey, it’s 
yourself can do it when you like. There’s nothing 
too hot or too heavy for you.” 

‘^ll^'ever mind them, Anty,” said Peggy, raising 
her eyes in the direction of her sister’s voice, with 
a smile of matchless humor playing around her small 
mouth ; they’re only making game of you — you 
know what a pair of lads they are. Did you bring 
me that yarn I wanted ?” 

This was only an excuse to hide the real object 
ot her sister’s absence, but Anty took the hint, and 
replied that Irwin’s store was closed, so she didn’t 
go any farther as it was gettin’ late. 

“ Anty,” said Peggy, “ I have good news for you. 
Tom Derragh is goin’ to lave off drinkin’ and take 
himself up, and as for Barney here he’s going to 
stick to his promise like a man.” 

Anty was by this time in high good humor, and 
extended her hand to Tom with a gracious smile, say- 
ing, “ Give me your hand, Tom ! — there’s hope for 
you yet. Stick to that notion, and you’ll soon show 


138 CON o’regan ; or, 

them what you can do. There’s time enough yet tc 
do well.” 

“ I mean to try, Mrs. Brady,” said Tom, his eyes 
still fixed on Peggy’s sightless, yet animated coun- 
tenance, with a look of mingled sorrow and admira- 
tion, very different from the usually stolid expres- 
sion of his features. 

“ Say with God’s help,” put in Peggy, softly. 

“Where’s the use of saying that?” said Tom, 
bluntly ; “ if I can I will, that’s all !” 

Peggy shook her head and sighed. Hardly 
another word did she speak during the evening, 
except when returning Tom’s good night. Even 
then she barely said what was necessary, nothing 
more. 

“ She thinks now that I can’t keep my word,” 
said Tom to himself, with some. bitterness, as he de- 
scended the long dark staircase, which seemed to 
him of interminable length, “ but I’ll let her see I 
can. And after all she takes too much on her — she 
talks to me all as one as if I were a child — how she 
does catechise one, and put words in a fellow’s mouth 
that he never meant to say. She can just w^ind peo- 
ple round her finger — it’s well we’re not tied to her,” 
he added ; “and yet,” said a voice from his inmost 
heart — “it isn’t my fault that I am not — blind and 
all as she is now, there’s nobody like Peggy — poor 
Peggy 1” and a heavy sigh burst from his heart as 
he stepped forth at last into the cold, calm moon- 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


139 


light. He looked up for a moment at the starry 
heavens and the beautiful queen of night 

“ As she floated above, 

In her robe of light,” 

and he thought of the days long, long past, when he 
was young, and gay, and happy, because innocent 
and free from the corrupting influence of bad com- 
pany. He heard again his father’s admonitory 
words of wisdom, his mother’s sweet song as she 
turned her wheel by the winter’s fire on the well- 
swept hearth— thence his busy memory wandered to 

“ The cliff-bound inch, the chapel in the glen, 

Where oft with bare and reverent locks he stood 
To hear th’ eternal truths.” 

These old home pictures were before him in all 
their beautiful simplicity, and under the benign 
spell of Peggy’s prudent counsel, he was softened 
for the moment to a sense of his unworthiness, and 
could easily have been brought to say : “ God be 
merciful to me a sinner !” but, alas ! there was no 
one near to foster the rising sentiment into a salu- 
tary feeling of remorse, and the whole current of his 
thoughts was instantly changed by the voice of a so- 
called friend, a boarder in the same house, who hap- 
pened to pass at the moment. Not sorry to get rid 
of his gloomy cogitations, Tom willingly consented 
to accompany his friend to a raffle in the neighbor- 
hood, and oflT they went together, on fun, rather 
than charity intent. 


140 ccx o’regan ; or, 

Tom’s good resolutions vanishea like the morning 
mist before the exciting influences surrounding him 
on every side at the raffle. It had been originally 
got up for the benefit of a poor widow whose large 
family were in urgent need of some immediate as- 
sistance. Two of her b^ys had fallen into the hands 
of the philanthropical authorities of that most chari- 
table city, and it cost the poor mother some weeks 
of constant application and assiduous exertion before 
they were restored to her Popish arms. The Widow 
Mulligan was a hard-working, industrious woman, 
ekeing out a subsistence for herself and her family 
by washing and charring. She was a fervent, con- 
scientious Catholic, and would willingly see her 
children in their coffins, as she said herself, rather 
than have them brought up Protestants. These sen- 
timents, together with her well-known honesty and 
industry, naturally excited a sti’oug sympathy in her 
favor, and soon after her honorable victory over the 
“ Friends and Fathers” ,of the city, a small clock was 
purchased by a few generous friends for the pur- 
pose of having it raffled for the benefit of Widow 
Mulligan. Ever ardent and impulsive, and warm- 
ly susceptible of right feeling, the Irish seldom 
pause to think of the fitness of the course which 
their fervid sympathy dictates. There was a large 
number of people, both male and female, at this 
raffle, on the evening appointed for the great event. 
They assembled even before the hour specified, at a 
tavern, not far distant frOKa Mrs. Mulligan’s dwell 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. l4l 

ing, the landlord of said tavern having kindly oEeredi 
the use of his largest room for the occasion. It is 
needless to say that the raffle put nearly as much 
money into his pocket as it did into that of Mrs. 
Mulligan, a dance being got up, as usual, after the 
raffle, and all the world knows that dancing makes 
people mighty thirsty. A handsome sum was 
realized, it is true, for the worthy widow, but many 
a pocket was emptied in the course of the evening, 
or rather nighty and many a good resolution disap- 
peared — as in the case of Tom Derragh — disap- 
peared, perhaps, for ever. The charity that was 
done might have been done in another way, just as 
effectual, without being made the occasion of un- 
necessary expenditure, and an incalculable amount 
of sin and misery. 

As for Tom Derragh, when he once got “ on the 
spree,” there was no knowing where or when his 
“ spree” was to end. Work of any kind was out of 
the question, as long as money or credit lasted, and 
it was only when both were utterly exhausted that 
Tom brushed himself up and went in quest of some- 
thing to do. During these fits of dissipation, Tom 
always took good care to keep as far as possible 
from Barney Brady’s dwelling, although it some- 
times happened that Barney himself was one of his 
companions in these rambles, or ‘^roving commis- 
sions,” as they facetiously styled them. On the pre- 
sent occasion, however, Barney was not of the par- 
ty and when Tom ventured to present himself in the 


142 


CON o’kegan or, 


fourth-story chamber at the farther end of Hope 
street, a day or two after he had returned to his 
work, he found Barney listening attentively to a cer- 
tain account of “Wonderful Shipwrecks,” read by 
no less a person than Andy Dwyer. Tom entered 
with a sheepish, lounging air, as though conscious of 
deserving no warm reception, and though Barney 
nodded with his wonted kindness, “ the woman- 
kind” (as Monkbarns would say) hardly condescend- 
ed to notice him. Anty bade him, indeed, a cold 
“good evening,” then went on with her work as 
though he wei-e not in the room, while Peggy, 
though she started on hearing her sister salute him 
by name, spoke not a single word. Andy Dwyer 
raised his head a moment from the book, with a 
formal “ How are you, Thomas ?” for it was one of 
Andy’s peculiarities never to address any one by the 
ordinary abbreviation of his or her name, always 
giving it as his opinion that by what name soever 
they were baptized, by that name they should inva- 
riably be called. “ If w’^e have a saint’s name,” would 
Andy say, “ it’s a burning shame to disrespect it with 
a nickname.” Many an attempt had he made to in- 
duce his acquaintances to correct their pronunciation 
of his own name, but somehow they seemed to have 
a perverse satisfaction in calling him Awr/y, and, 
after some years’ constant application, he had resign- 
ed himself to his fate, and suffered the Apostolic 
name of Andrew to lie over, “ leaving it all to their 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


148 


own ignorance — if they knew any better they 
wouldn’t do it.” 

Having timidly slid himself into a seat, Tom be- 
gan his endeavors to break the ice with sundry 
“ sticks of candy” wherewith he had prudently pro- 
vided himself. These, managed as he 'well knew how 
to do, soon gained the unqualified favor of the two 
children who were quietly placed one on either knee. 
Still Anty maintained her frowning silence, and 
Peggy might have passed for a little squatting 
statue, were it not for the unceasing motion of her 
fingers as she pursued her endless task. At length 
Tom, drawing his chair near her, ventured to ask, 
almost in a whisper, if she had been wel! ever since 
he saw her. A flush, most probably of anger, 
crimsoned Pe'ggy’s fair face, as she replied, some- 
what snappishly: 

“ This is no time for talkin’ — don’t you hear the 
man readin’?” 

Barney smiled, and nodded at his friend, as much 
as to say: “Tou’re in for it now, my lad and 
Tom, disconcerted and embarrassed, was fain to 
make a show of listening to Andy, wishing him, at 
the same time, in Jericho, “ himself and his book of 
shipwracks.” 

At length Andy closed his book, observing that 
it must be getting near bed-time, and Tom was right 
glad to effect his retreat at the same time, notwith- 
standing Barney’s question of “What’s your hurry 
man ?” 


144 


OR, 


CON o’rf.gan ; 

“ Oh ! never mind him,” said Peggy, speaking for 
the first time since her sharp rebuke of Tom’s ill- 
manners. “ He has a power of business on hands 
these times. You know he has to count his money 
over now an’ then, an’ look after many a thing that 
we don’t know of.” 

“That’s the old proverb all over, Peggy,” said 
Tom, sharply — “When a man’s down, down will 
him. I didn’t expect such jibes from you."'^ 

“ Do you tell me so '? ah ! then why, if it’s no harm 
to ask ?” 

“ Good night to you all!” said Tom ; “ I see there’s 
no use talkin’ to some people I” and without wait- 
ing for an answer he followed Dwyer down stairs, 
internally resolving “ not to go there again in a 
hurry.” 



SM*6RANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


145 


CHAPTER IX. 

Meanwhile Winny O’Regan kept faithful watch 
by the sick bed of Rachel Coulter. After her arri- 
val, the sick-room was well nigh left to herself and 
her unconscious patient, Mrs. Coulter thinking it 
wholly unnecessary for either herself or Hannah to 
enter its dangerous precincts. Pastilles were burn- 
ed in the room, and aromatic vinegar was sprinkled 
profusely in the adjoining passage. Disinfecting 
fluids were placed at doors and stair tops, and every 
precaution was taken to prevent the contagion from 
spreading. And all this time, that is to say for nine 
long nights and as many days, Winny remained in 
constant attendance on the sick girl, her meals being 
left for her outside the door of the chamber. Hu- 
man nature could not have withstood such prolong- 
ed and incessant fatigue, especially in the enfeebled 
state of Winny’a health, but Mr. Coulter came to 
her relief, and took her place by Rachel’s bed for 
some hours every night, so that she was enabled to 
get some rest on a sofa in the adjoining room. Mrs. 
Coulter often remonstrated with her husband on this 
imprudent exposure of himself, for which there was 


CON o’regan ; OH, 

not, according to her, the slightest necessity. But. 
she spoke to ears that would not hear ; for Mr. Coul- 
ter had no mind to leave the whole risk and the 
whole fatigue to one poor, delicate girl, herself only 
recovering from a tedious illness. 

“ It was I that asked her to undertake this thing,” 
said he, “ and I feel bound to see that she be not 
overtasked — her present strenglh is not much, and 
it would certainly kill her to watch night and day by 
a bed of contagious disease.” 

“Well! you are always so soft, Samuel! — now 
don’t you suppose that this girl would have taken the 
nursing in hands if she didn’t think she had strength 
enough to go through with it. And then, I guess 
you intend to pay her well for her trouble, so I really 
think she might be permitted to discharge the duty 
for which she is engaged. I do so, Samuel, you 
needn’t look so bard at me — I know these Irish very 
well indeed, and I tell you they can bear almost any- 
thing if they are only paid for it.” 

Mr. Coulter only answered with a look, and turn- 
ed away, saying within himself : “ If this be the fruit 
of vital religion, I thank God I have forsworn it long 
ago. Better a thousand times the natural prompt- 
ings of man’s own heart, than the stern, cold, selfish 
teachings of what is called religion. Religion in- 
deed !” he contemptuously ejaculated, as he hastily 
ascended to his daughter’s room. “ A fig for reli- 
gion, say I ! — one drop of the milk of human kind- 
ness is worth a bushel of religion !— give me, for my 


ElIIGRAXT LIFE IX THE NEW WORLD. 


14T 


creed, the golden rule : Do unto others as you would 
be done by !” 

Such was Mr. Coulter’s characteristic soliloquy on 
the comparative merits of religion and benevolence. 
Religion was, in his mind, identified with the barren, 
lifeless forms, the “ human inventions,” nicknamed 
religions^ which he saw around him. He saw them 
founded on* selfishness, vested in hypocrisy as “a 
sad-colored garment,” preaching universal toleration, 
but practising universal intolerance of the fiercest 
and most relentless kind. His heart, naturally warm 
and susceptible of all kindly emotions, instinctively 
shrank from such a system of hypocrisy, so harsh 
and so shallow. It never occurred to him that cha- 
rity — free, warm, spontaneous charity — is the inse- 
parable adjunct of true religion — that ‘the one can- 
not exist without or independent of the other, and 
that religion, wit Jtmtt chzxitj ^ would be as fire with- 
out flame. Such a conception of religion would 
have enlisted all his generous sympathies, and most 
probably have made him a sincere Christian, but un- 
happily his naturally upright mind was shrouded, as 
regarded spiritual matters, in the gross darkness 
which then, as now, enveloped and overshadowed 
the great mass of his countrymen. 

On entering the sick-room, Mr. Coulter was greet- 
ed with a burst of fervent gratitude from Winny. 
“ Thanks be to God, sir, Miss Rachel has got a turn 
for the better — she knew me a little while ago, when 
she opened her eyes after that long trance she wai 


148 


CON O'REGAN ; OR, 


in ever since last night when you were here. But, 
sir dear ! don’t speak above your breath, for she’s in 
a kind of a doze now — just see how natural she 
looks, an’ how regular an’ soft her breathin’ is.” 

Mr. Coulter, stooping over the bed, had the in- 
tense satisfaction of finding Winny’s statement quite 
correct. “Well!” said he, “ Winny, if she gets 
over it, I may thank you. Your care arfil attention 
have done more for her than the two doctors could 
have done.” 

“Under God, sir, under God,” said Winny hasti- 
ly, fearful of encouraging, even by a momentary si- 
lence, what she deemed a criminal detraction from 
the paramount claims of God. “It was little I did, 
or could do, if He didn’t enable me. Blessed be 
Ilis holy nam'e 1” and she raised her humid eyes to 
heaven. 

“Well! well!” said Mr. Coulter, petulantly, 
“ have it your own way, Winny — still you must al- 
low that we owe you some small share of gratitude.” 

“ Why, then, to be sure, sir, I did what little I 
could, but that’s neither here nor there. How is 
Con, if you please, sir, or do you know did he get 
e’er a letter from home?” She had not seen her 
brother since she took Rachel in charge, though he 
called every day at the door to make inquiries. 

“ Oh ! he’s very well, Winny,” replied Mr. Coul- 
ter, “ only very anxious on your account, as I can 
lee clearly, although he does not choose to say so. 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 149 

lie has had a letter from his wife, a couple of days 
ago, and I believe his family are all well.” 

“Thank God for that same!” ejaculated Winny, 
in her soft, whispering accents. “It’s a comfort to 
hear that, anyhow. But, hush — hush — there’s Miss 
Rachel stirring. I declare she’s wakin’ up, sir.” 

The exquisite joy of that moment amply repaid 
the fond father for the heart*wearing anxiety of the 
last few weeks, and as he met the speaking eye of 
his child and clasped the little attenuated hand which 
she held out to him, he involuntarily breathed his 
thanks to God as fervently as Winny herself could 
have done. Rachel was about to speak, but her 
father laid his commands on her to be silent, telling 
her to be a good girl and do whatever Winny told 
her, and that she would soon be well and “ about 
again.” Rachel cast an inquiring glance around the 
room, and her face expressed disappointment as she 
uttered the word “ Ma ?” 

. “ Oh 1 your ma is down stairs— she’ll be up very 
soon, I dare say. I II let her know that you wish to 
see her. Good-bye now, Rachel, and mind what I 
told you.” 

The joyful news which Mr. Coulter went all the 
way to the kitchen to communicate was received by 
his wife with edifying composure. She was rejoiced, 
indeed, as what mother would not ? at the favorable 
change which had taken place in her child, but still 
she shrank from the danger of contracting the terri- 
ble malady. 


150 CON o'regan ; or, 

“You know, my dear,” said she in her faintest 
accents, “ that I am almost exhausted after the un- 
usually hard work which I have been obliged to do 
during the last couple of weeks. I would, therefore, 
be predisposed to catch the infection, and what 
would become of you all if I were laid up ?” 

“ That is very true. Prudence,” said her husband, 
smiling at the marked emphasis laid on the pronoun 
I ; “on the whole it may be more prudent for you 
to keep away. Ahem ! Prudence is, undoubtedly, 
a Christian virtue. If Winny O’Regan had been as 
prudent as you are, my good woman,” he muttered, 
as he ascended the kitchen stairs, “ Rachel might be 
©n the other side the great gulf by this time. To 
the mischief with such Christian virtues if they 
harden a mother’s heart and fill it with icy selfish- 
ness !” 

With this burst of just indignation Mr. Coulter 
descended the steps, and was soon lost in the busy 
crowd hurrying to and fro in the street without. 
He and his partners were that da^ to meet the 
agents of the various insurance companies for the 
final arrangements of matters concerning the late 
fire. The character of the firm was so well estab- 
lished that the insurance ofiicers knew not well how 
to bring forward an objection which must necessa- 
rily have involved a charge of fraud, and, moreover, 
their repeated investigations had elicited nothing 
that could in the slightest degree justify such a 
tharge, so that they had no alternative but pay the 


EiMGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


151 


amount of their various policies, which they did with 
no very good grace, the sums being respectively 
larger than it was to their liking to advance. 

This grand affair being happily settled, the busi- 
ness of the firm was speedily resumed in another 
building in the same street. At a preliminary meet- 
ing of the partners, previous to the re-opening of 
their warehouse, the question of “ the hands” was, 
of course, brought under discussion. 

“ Now, who are we to keep, and who to get rid 
of?” said Wood. “ The present is a good opportu- 
nity to make any changjes to that effect which we 
may think necessary or advantageous.” 

“ If my advice were taken,” said Pirns, with a 
sidelong glance at his senior, “ there should be none 
of these confounded Irishmen about the premises. 
I guess we shall bring a storm about our heads 
some of these days by retaining so many of them 
in our employment. We shall not be allowed to 
go on much longer in defiance of public opinion, 
take my word for it. But I suppose,” he added, 
still more pointedly, “ there would bo no use in 
thinking of sending that O’Regan adrift — he has 
laid us under such pi'essmg obligations.” 

Wood evidently enjoyed this homethrust at Coul- 
ter, but the latter replied very coolly in his blunt 
way, “Never mind O'Regan; I don’t intend to 
employ him any more in the concern. So leave him 
out of your calculations.” 

Never was astonishment more plainly depicted 


152 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


on “ the human face divine” than it was at that mo- 
ment on the respective visages of the junior part- 
ners. With that, too, there was an unmistakeable 
mixture of hope — hope that “ the favorite,” as they 
usually styled Con, had disobliged Mr. Coulter in 
some way that had turned his honest heart against 
him. 

“Why, how is that?” said Wood; “have you, 
then, been deceived in him ?” 

“ What has he done ?” cried Pirns, wholly unable 
to conceal his satisfaction. “ I thought he was the 
non-such of porters !” 

Mr. Coulter saw the malicious triumph which his 
partners had in view, and he took a laudable plea- 
sure in keeping them on the tenter-hooks where he 
had ingeniously placed them. 

“ It matters not what he has done,” he replied, 
“ but I have other views for him. As an Irishman 
he deserves punishment, which I will take upon me 
to administer in a proper and efficacious manner. 
Leave him out, I tell you again, and go on to other 
matters of greater importance !” 

Next time Mr. Coulter saw Con, which happened 
to be on the following day, he abruptly saluted him 
with “ What’s to be done now, O’Regan — your 
services are no longer required in our establish- 
ment ?” 

Con’s countenance fell. He was evidently taken 
quite aback, but, after clearing his throat twice or 
thrice, he go! courage to say in a careless way ; 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 153 

Well, sir, Tin sorry to hear it, but I suppose it 
eau’t be helped. I was thinkin’ you’d be for keepiu' 
me on, but as you’re not, why I must only try if 
I can find another situation.” 

“And that will be no easy matter, I can tell 
you,” said Mr. Coulter, gravely. “ In the present 
state of public feeling, the best recommendation I 
could give you would hardly procure you employ- 
ment amongst the merchants of this city. You 
see yourself how excited the populace are against 
you Irish, and employers are more or less exposed 
to public censure by having anything to do with 
you.” 

“ Well, sir,” said Con, with a sigh, “ that same is 
hard enough, for Pm sure they’ll never find any one 
to serve them more faithfully than most of us do. 
Still, as I said, it can’t be helped. If all goes to all, 
sir, why we must only go to some other city in 
search of employment.” 

“.Even that would not better your condition,’ 
said Mr. Coulter. “All our principal cities in these 
Eastern States are, I am sorry to say, equally into- 
lerant at the present time as regards you. But) 
cheer up ! Con — things are not quite so bad as you 
seem to think. I told you on the night of the fire 
that Sam Coulter was not ungrateful, but I have as 
yet given you no proof that what I said was true. 
How would you like to go out West and settle on 
a farm — a farm of your own, Con, mind that ?” 

Con’s eyes sparkled and his cheeks glowed. He 


154 


CON O^RKGAN ; OB, 

seemed half afraid to admit the possibility of such a 
thing. “ Is it how would I like it, Mr. Coulter ?— > 
oh, then, indeed, sir, it’s the very thing I would like, 
if — if — it could ever come to pass. But sure it can’t 
— there’s no such good luck in store for me.” 

“ How do you know that ?” inquired Mr. Coulter, 
sharply. 

“ Why, sir, I’m told it takes a power of money to 
get settled on a farm. Isn’t that place you speak of 
very far away, sir ?” 

“I spoke of no particular place,” said Mr. Coulter, 
smiling. “ I said the West in general. There are 
three States to which the rush of settlers is now 
tending — these are : Illinois, Wisconsin, and Iowa, 
all of which bid fair to be great and flourishing 
States. Many of your countrymen are to be found 
in each of them already, I understand, so that you 
•will find yourself quite at home in any of them.” 

Con smiled and shook his head. “ To be sure I 
•will, sir — when I get there. But where is the money 
10 come from ?” 

“That’s the secret,” said Mr. Coulter; “but as 
you must know it sooner or later, I believe I may 
as well tell you now. I promised my two partners 
this day that I would dispose of a troublesome fel- 
low of your name, so as to clear him off the premises. 
Well ! I happen to have a brace of old maiden sis- 
ters, who have little to do with thei money besides 
carrying out their odd notions. Kow they both 
happen to have conceived an interest in your wel 


emigrant life in the new world. 155 

fare from certain representations made to them at 
times regarding you and Winny^not that they have 
ever seen much of her^ poor girl ! for they and my 
wife are not on the best of terms, and so they only 
cross my threshold once a year, when they make 
their ITew Year’s visit. But I see them myself from 
time to time as opportunity offers, and, as I told 
you — at least I think I did — they are willing to lend 
\ou some three or four hundred dollars for the pur- 
pose of settling on a farm out West, until such times 
as you can pay it back, which I know will not be 
long. Do you understand ?” He saw that Con 
Jooked embarrassed as well as surprised. 

“ Oh yes, sir, I understand — well enough — but 
then it would never do for a poor man like me to go 
under such a load of debt. I’d never be able to pay 
it, sir. Not but what I’m entirely obliged to the 
old ladies ” 

Mr. Coulter laughed. It’s well for you,’’ said he, 
“that you’re not within their hearing when you 
speak of them as old ladies, else I fear your chance 
would be forfeited. Ladies are never old^ Con I allld 
.especially unmarried ladies— -^remember that !” 

“D’ye tell me so, sir?” said Con, in surprise. 
“Well! that’s something I never knew before — I 
thought the quality grew old just like other people, 
an’ I wouldn’t have called your sisters old, only 
yourself said it the first. I ask your pardon, Mr 
Coulter, if I made too free.” 

• “Tut, man, there is no need of any apology; I 


V 


156 


CON O^KEGAN ; OR, 


merely meant to put you on your guard — you see 
the truth is not always to be told. But, come! 
what shall I say to my sisters ?” 

“ Well, sir! if you’ll just be good enough to tel- 
the young ladies,” with a sly emphasis on the adjec- 
tive, which made Mr. Coulter smile, “ that I’m for 
ever obliged to them, and that if there’s any reason- 
able prospect of my bein’ able to pay back their 
money. I’ll take the loan of it with all the veins of 
my heart. But you know, sir, and you’ll please to 
say so, that I have to consult with Winny, and 
another thing I’d like to try an’ find out whether 
there’s any priests or chapels in them parts. I’ll 
ask Father Timlin, sir, this very day.” 

“Very well, Con, that is all fair enough, but I 
hope you will make up your mind to embrace this 
golden opportunity, let the priests or the churches 
be as they may. If you miss this chance you may 
never have such another I” 

“ It won’t be my fault, Mr. Coulter, if I do miss 
it, for it’s what even Biddy — that’s ray wife, sir ! — 
t^ls me in her letter that if I could get a spot of 
land of my own, if it was only six or eight acres, 
where we wouldn’t have any rent to pay, ahe’d be 
the proudest woman of her name.” 

“ Six or eight acres !” repeated Mr. Coulter ; 
“ and would you call that a farm in Ireland ?” 

“ Why, then, to be sure we would, sir, an’ if a 
body had that same at any kind of an easy rent, he 
might live happy and comfortable on it — but it’s 


EMIGRANT LIFR IN THE NEW WORLD. 157 

the rents, sir, that keep down the poor fanners in 
Ireland, and drives them away out of the country 
altogether.” 

“ Poor people 1” said Mr. Coulter to himself ; 
poor people ! what a melancholy story is theirs, 
and yet how little sympathy do they meet from 
those who have all the benefit of their expatriation I 
— tlieir great and numerous virtues pass unheeded, 
and only their faults are noted to be magnified into 
heinous crimes ! — well, Con!” he said aloud, “you 
will think of what I proposed to you — talk it over 
with your friends, at your leisure, and let me know 
the result I” 

“ I will, sir, and may the Lord bless you — but Mr. 
Coulter,” going a step after him, “ I forgot to ask 
about Miss Rachel — how is she the day, sir?” 

“ Much better, Con, I thank you — so much better, 
indeed, that Winny will soon be at liberty again— 
that is” — he was going to add, “ provided she do not 
catch the infection,” but glancing at Con’s eager, 
anxious face, he suddenly stopped, and muttering 
something about having delayed too long, he hastily 
turned away, while Con stood looking after him in 
amazement till he disappeared round a corner. 

The clock in Mr. Coulter’s hall had just struck 
seven that same evening when Con O’Regan rang 
the bell and told Hannah who opened the door that 
ho wished to speak with Wiriny. The young lady 
civilly invited him to walk in and sit down, and 
away she rtripped to inform Winny, taking care, 


158 


CON o’keoan ; OR, 


however, to keep at a safe distance from the door of 
the prohibited chamber. Telling her young patient 
that she would be back in a very few minutes, Winny 
descended the stairs with a light and rapid step, 
thinking only of the pleasure of seeing her brother, 
and hearing from his wife and children, forgetting 
for the moment the danger of conveying the infec- 
tion to Con, when just at the head of the first stair- 
case, she came full against Mrs. Coulter, who was 
leisurely proceeding to her own chamber. Mrs. 
Coulter drew back in great trepidation, at the same 
time admonishing Winny to keep off. 

“ Dear me ! Winny,” she exclaimed, in tremulous 
accents, “ how very thoughtless it was of you to come 
so near me when you saw that I didn’t observe 
your approach ! — now, if I should happen to take 
that dreadful fever, I shall have only you to blame ! 
— what on earth are you doing here?” and she kept 
moving away from Winny, holding a vinaigrette con- 
taining aromatic vinegar to her nose. 

“ I’m going down to see my brother, ma’am,” was 
Winny’s quiet answer, “ though maybe it’s what I 
shouldn’t do when there’s such danger of infection. 
Still I’ll go in God's name, for I know Con won’t 
fear to have me near him if there was a plague on 
me, let alone a fever. Will you please to pass on, 
ma’am, till I get going down stairs ?” 

The passage was quickly cleared, and Winny could 
not help laughing as she made her way to where Con 
sat. The fraternal salutation was even warmer than 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


150 


nsual, as the brother and sister clasped each other’s 
hand, and exchanged scrutinizing glances. Con’s 
eyes filled with tears as he hastily took in the in- 
creased emaciation of his sister’s face and form, but 
Winny, reading his thoughts, did not choose to en- 
courage them. 

“ So you’ve got a letter from Biddy, I hear ! — how 
are they all at home ?” 

“All well, Winny, thanks be to God, and Biddy 
sends her love and best respects to you. But I’ll 
give you the letter to read.” And he put his hand 
in his pocket in search of the precious missive. 

“Ho, no. Con! not now!” said Winny, hastily, 
“ when I go out from here — if I’m living and well, I 
can read it then, but there’s no use takin’ it up into 
the sick-room. An’ what news have you. Con ?” 

“ The best of news, Winny ! — the best of news ! 
—an’ you’ll say when you hear it that I’m one of 
the luckiest men livin’.” 

“ Why, what in the world is it. Con?” cried Winny, 
involuntarily catching a portion of her brother’s ani- 
mation. 

Con proceeded to relate his conversation of the 
morning with Mr. Coulter, Winny listening with a 
kindling eye and a glowing cheek. She had hardly 
patience to hear him out. 

“ Well I and did you go to Father Timlin, Con ?— 
and what did he say ?” 

“ Oh I he said I might make myself quite easy with 
regard to the clergy and the churches, for that if 


160 


CON O^REGAN ; OR, 

there’s not a priest or a church in every settlement, 
there soon would, he was sure. He said he’d wish 
me to go to the State of Iowa, for that there’s a great 
number of Irish people — good Catholics — scattered 
all over it, and that there will be more and more 
goin’ every day. How, Winny, isn’t that a good 
chance that the Lord has given us ?” 

“ It is indeed. Con, blessed be His name !” She 
was about to say something else when the door bell 
rang, and whispering to her brother to come soon 
again till they would talk the matter over, Winny 
opened the door and admitted the doctor, who was 
come to pay his evening visit. Dr. Richards was 
not an old man, but neither was he what might be 
called young, so that he came under the category 
of “ middle-aged gentlemen,” although there was 
that in the flashing glance of his eye when he chose 
to turn it full on any one, which told of passions 
naturally strong and never subjected to restraint. 
Still his demeanor was staid and rather dignified, 
and as he stood at the very head of his profession, 
he was favored with an extensive and lucrative 
practice, chiefly among the higher classes, and his 
little backslidings, if perchance he had them, were 
politely permitted by his patrons and patronesses 
of the conventicle to “ rest in the shade,” as trifles 
unworthy of notice. On the present occasion the 
doctor seemed a little surprised when the door was 
opened by Winny, whom he had not seen for 
weeks long out of the sick-room, and his surprise 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 161 

Mras nowise lessened by the sight of our friend Con, 
who stood with his hat in his hand almost behind 
the door. The doctor’s quick eye glanced from 
the handsome young Irishman to the now blushing 
face of Winny, who felt a little embarrassed by the 
rencontre^ suspecting in a moment the wrong con- 
struction which might be put on the aifair. 

“ So, Winny,” said the doctor, “ your patient must 
be going on well this evening when you can come 
down to receive visitors.” 

“ Yes, sir, I think Miss Rachel’s a great deal bet- 
ter, and I just came down to speak a few words to 
my brother here. I’m goin’ up now.” 

“Your brother, eh ? — oh ! I beg pardon, I thought 
it had been somebody else.’’'* And the doctor chuckled 
in a singular way as he mounted the stairs. Winny 
only waited to let Con out and then hastened back 
to her post. She found the physician in the act of 
feeling Rachel’s pulse. 

“ Our patient is decidedly better,” he said. — “ very 
much better, indeed. You have cheated death for 
thisTime, Rachel. Good news that for pa, — a’nt it ?” 

He then asked Winny a few questions relative to 
the patient, and having obtained satisfactory an- 
swers, he said with a peculiar smile: “You are 
a clever girl, Winny, — a most excellent nurse, and 
as such I can safely recommend you, should you 
think of continuing at the business.” 

“ I thank you kindly, sir,” s:ud Winny, “ but I 
have no thoughts of that — it was only to oblige Mr. 


162 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

Coulter that I came to mind Miss Racliel, an’ I know 
I’m no great hand at the business. But sure I done 
all I could.” 

“ You did very well, indeed, Winny, better, in 
fact, than many a professional nurse would have 
done.” He had now reached the passage, when he 
suddenly remembered that he had given Winny no 
directions as to the patient’s diet, and called her for 
that purpose. Having given her the necessary 
orders, he seized her hand and drew her farther 
down the narrow hall, Winny trying in vain to ex- 
tricate her fingers. 

“ Winny,” said he, in a low whisper, almost close 
to her ear, “I know exactly how you stand here — 
I am well aware of Mrs. Coulter’s base ingratitude 
— don’t engage with her again on any account. 
Mrs. Richards wants a chambermaid just now, and 
I will see that you get better wages than any one 
else. Won’t you go at once and engage with her?” 
The doctor’s whole manner was so strangely fami- 
liar, his looks so excited, and his tone so impassioned, 
that Winny trembled all over and renewed her 
efforts to get away, not deigning a word of reply. 
But when he went still farther, approaching his face 
quite close to hers, with an unmistakeable inten- 
tion, Winny, as if suddenly endowed with twofold 
strength, snatched her hand from the grasp of the 
libertine, and with that same hand gave him such a 
blow on the face that he staggered back against the 
' wall. 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


163 


“ Take that now,” said the angry girl, as she 
passed him at full speed ; “ that’ll teach you to keep 
a civil distance from the like of me for the time to 
come. If ever you dare say a word of the kind to me 
again or take any liberty whatsomever, I’ll tell Mr. 
Coulter so sure as my name is Winny O’Regan!” — ■ 
and shaking her fist at him, she entered Rachel’s 
room and closed the door after her, leaving the doc- 
tor to fiiod his way down stairs as best he might. 

Winny was well pleased to find that Rachel had 
turned to the wall and was already half asleep. Fall- 
ing on her knees she once more ofiTered herself to 
God and solemnly placed herself under the protec- 
tion of the ever-blessed Virgin, which was her con- 
stant practice, tlien she arose, strong in the might 
of faith, and said to herself: “The smooth-faced 
vagabond! — isn’t he a nice lad to have attendin’ a 
family ? — but sure he thought I was only a poor sim- 
ple Irish girl and that he could do as he liked with 
me. I’ll go bail, though, that he’ll keep clear of me 
from this out I” 

As for the doctor, he made his way down stairs as 
quietly as possible, holding his handkerchief to his 
bleeding nose, alternately vowing vengeance against 
“ that uncultivated Irish virago” and framing ex- 
cuses for his accident in case he met Mrs. Coulter. 
Fortunately, that lady was in the kitchen preparing 
supper, so that the worthy physician, finding the 
coast clear, stepped noiselessly to the door and let 
himself out.o. 


164 


CON o’broan : OA, 


CHAPTER X. 

For a few days after the incident recorded at the 
end of our last chapter, Dr. Richards continued his 
daily visits, and Winny was no little surprised to see 
that his manner towards herself was just the same 
as before. Not the smallest degree of embarrass- 
ment did he manifest even on the following day; 
neither was there any appearance of resentment. 
He seemed to have forgotten all about the affair of 
the previous day, and gave the necessary directions 
in a tone of the coolest indifference, just as though 
nothing unusual had happened. But it was not so 
with Winny, who could not so easily forget the 
shameful insult that had been so lately offered her 
by the man before her. The fresh, unsullied purity 
of her heart made her shrink with disgust from him 
who had dared to take such a liberty, and do as 
she would, she could not look him in the face, but 
received her orders in profound silence with only a 
cod of assent. 

“ Do you hear what I say, my good girl said 
the doctor in a raised voice, apparently determined 
to make her speak. But Winny, on her side, was 


EM'JRANT LIFE IN THE NEW IVORLD. 


165 


just, as <^v*;ermined, and she, therefore, nodded again. 

“ I fe?** your nurse is becoming deaf^ Rachel !” 
said Dr. Richards, addressing his patient. 

“Oh dear no, doctor,” said Rachel, quickly; 
“ Winny hears quite well. I was speaking to her 
just before you came in, and she heard every word 
I said. Bat Winny don’t ever talk a great deal — 
dear W^ony,” and she held out her hand to her 
nurse with a look of the tenderest affection. 

“ She probably thinks the more !” was the doctor’s 
sarcastic answer, as bidding Rachel good morning 
he hurried down stairs. In the hall he was met by 
Mrs. Co’/ter, who invited him into the front parlor 
and asked how he found her daughter. 

“ Oh ! your daughter goes on very well — very 
well, indeed. I hope to have her down stairs in a 
week or so. But what sort of person is that Winny ?” 
This was said in a very pointed manner, and, as the 
doctor expected, at once excited Mrs. Coulter’s 
curiosity. 

“ Why, really, doctor, I hardly know how to 
answer your question, although she has lived here 
for some years. She is Irish, as you must be aware 1” 

“I know it. Madam, and, of course, that accounts 
for some of her eccentricities, but there is still much 
that requires explanation. Excuse me, Mrs. Coul- 
ter ! nothing but my great and heartfelt interest in 
your family could induce me to interfere in such 
matters. Do you propose keeping this girl on ?” 

“ Well 1 1 certainly did intend to keep her, doctor, 


166 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

but if you have found out anything discreditable— 
of course, that alters the case. I would not keep a 
doubtful character in my house on any account. 
Pray, doctor, what have you heard or seen that 
makes you think Winny an improper person ?” 

“ Oh! I beg your pardon. Madam,” said the bland 
physician, “I did not say improper. That is too 
strong a word. I only meant to state for your in 
formation, that Winny is very bold and forward in 
her demeanor. Her example is no great advantage 
for young ladies, I assure you.” 

The doctor rose as he said this, and was moving 
towards the door with a grave and courteous bow 
but Mrs. Coulter detained him. 

“ Well ! really, doctor, you surprise me !— now, let 
Winny have what other faults she might, I always 
thought her very modest indeed. But then there is 
no trusting these Irish. They are wholly destitute 
of principle, and — how, indeed, could it be otherwise, 
benighted as they are ? The mean, hypocritical jade ! 
I shall pack her off this very day at an hour’s notice ! 
I always thought her too smooth to be sincere I” 
This unexpected warmth rather alarmed the doc- 
tor, who had good reasons for wishing to avoid a 
sudden outbreak. “How really, Mrs. Coulter,” said 
he, turning back a step or two, “ if I had ever dream- 
ed of your acting so, I should not have said a word 
on the subject. I tell you, I saw nothing positively 
bad in the girl’s conduct — I merely warned you, in 
order to put you on your guard There is no need 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 167 

to exasperate Mr. Coulter at present by bringing 
any charge against his favorite, and, besides, my dear 
Madam, what would your daughter do just now 
without her? Just let matters stand as they are 
until Rachel is quite recovered, and then you can 
quietly dismiss Winny without assigning any reasons. 
That is my advice, and I speak, as you are well 
aware, from my sincere friendship for you. I do 
not desire to injure this girl, but rather to serve you.” 

The doctor’s reasoning was so cogent that the lady 
was forced to yield, though she did so with great 
reluctance. She knew it would be next to impossi- 
ble to convince Mr. Coulter of any impropriety on 
the part of Winny, and neither could Winny’s pre- 
sence be very well dispensed with as matters stood, 
so Mrs. Coulter had nothing for it but to bide her 
time.” The doctor, on his part, watched her from 
under his bushy brows, as a cat watches a mouse, 
and seeing that he bad brought her round to the de- 
sired point, he made his bow and retired, well satis- 
fied with the result of his first vengeful attempt. 

Things went on smoothly enough for five or six 
days. Rachel was at length convalescent, and Dr. 
Richards discontinued his visits, charging Mrs. Coul- 
ter in a parting interview not to do anything rash 
with regard to Winny, but to get her off as quietly 
as possible. “ And while she does remain in your 
house,” said he, “ be careful how you permit her to 
stand in the hall with ‘ tall Irish cousins’ — or hrotheri^ 
— he added, with smiling emphasis. “ Be true to 


168 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


your own character, now as ever ; uniting the gen- 
tleness of the dove with the cunning of the serpent. 
Good-bye, dear Mrs. Coulter ! I hope to see you at 
class-meeting this evening.” 

“ If possible, I will be there, doctor. Good-bye !” 

About the end of the week, Mr. Coulter bad Iho 
unspeakable joy of assisting Rachel down stairs to 
her usual place in the family circle. Winny was 
hardly less rejoiced, and she could not help follow- 
ing the father and daughter to the dining-room 
door, so as to enjoy unseen the pride and pleasure 
of seeing Miss Rachel in her old place. Tears of 
joy coursed each other down her pale cheek as she 
observed the trembling eagerness with which Mr. 
Coulter anticipated his daughter’s wishes and sup- 
plied her little wants. Having feasted for a few 
pleasant moments on this joyful scene, she stole up 
to her own little room on the attic story, where, 
flitting down on the side of her bed, she began seri- 
ously to think of what she had next to do. 

“ It’ll be hard for me to get away from here,” said 
she to herself, “ as Mrs. Coulter has no girl. To be 
sure, she’ll soon get as many as she wants, when 
once the sickness is over, an’ I can’t think of leavin’ 
her till she suits herself. If it was only on Mr. 
Coulter’s account, and Miss Rachel’s, Pd stay longer 
than that to oblige the family, though, goodness 
knows I I don’t owe the mistress anything ! But 
then — no matter — if she asks me to stay, I will, at 
any rate.” 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NR 17 WORLD. 169 

Having thus made up her mind, Winny went 
down stairs again, and seeing that tea was over, she 
timidly asked at the door : “ May I take down the 
tea-things, ma’am ?” 

“ Yes !” said Mrs. Coulter, with more than her 
usual coldness. Winny cleared the table, without 
a word, and Mr. Coulter gave a reproving glance at 
his wife, who only smiled contemptuously, as she 
walked with her daughters into the front parlor. 

About an hour after, when Winny had just finish- 
ed washing the tea-things, Mrs. Coulter made her 
appearance in the kitchen, and told her that as she 
had now fulfilled her engagement, she was at liberty 
to go whenever she pleased. Affectingnot to notice 
Winny’s look of surprise, the lady went on : ‘*1 
need make no apology, for I know you are well 
pleased to get away, Winny ! You will have no 
trouble, I dare say, in finding another situation!” 

“I hope not, ma’am,” said Winny, coldly; “but 
do you wish me to leave to-night ? — if so, I had 
better go at once, as it is getting late.” 

“ Oh my, no ! I should be sorry to have you 
leave at such an hour as this. To-morrow, after 
breakfast, I will pay you whatever you think right 
for caring Rachel, and you can go then as soon 
you like. Good night, Winny I” 

Winny’s reply was scarcely audible, for her heart 
was too full for words. When Mrs. Coulter had 
left the kitchen, she glanced around to see that 
there was nothing out of its place, and then sat 


no 


CON O^REGAN ; OR, 

down in the darkest corner, to enjoy the luxury of 
grief. Thankful that no mortal eyo beheld her, she 
gave herself up for a long, long time — how long she 
hardly knew — to the mournful reminiscences of de* 
parted joys, of days 

“ Too purely hkst to last.” 

Visions of domestic happiness, based on the cease- 
less interchange of heart-warm affection, arose in 
their sunny light, shedding a transitory beam on the 
loneliness and desolation of her state at that hour. 
Soothed by these sad yet sweet recollections, she 
gradually began to remember that aU the past was 
not effaced — all her loved ones not yet gone. She 
was not yet ahme in the wide world. Her brother 
remained, and what was more, she had him wiihin 
ten minutes’ walk of her. Why then should she de- 
spond ? Why should Mrs. Coulter’s heartless in- 
gratitude cause her so much pain ? “ Sure I had no 

right to expect anything else from the same woman,*’ 
said she to herself, “for it’s little else ever I saw by 
her. It wasn’t for her sake I did what I did, an’ I’d 
cheerfully do it over again for the master — God’s 
blessin’ be about him now and forever ! And sure 
isn’t he putting Con in a fair way of doin’ well in 
earnest, an’ please God he’ll have a place of his own 
far away from this, an’ he’ll have Biddy and the 
little ones out in no time, an’ I’ll be there to see it 
all— with God’s assistance,” she '^dded, suddenly re- 
collecting herself. “ Ah ! Mrs. Coulter dear, it’i 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 171 

little rd care about your odd ways then ! But if 
anything comes to prevent it” — yes! that was a 
serious consideration ! — but Winny’s sanguine hopes 
— so newly excited — were not to be so easily crushed, 
and she quickly answered her own saddening doubt, 
with her favorite axiom — “ It’s all in the hands of 
God, and He'll bring this about and everything else 
that’s good for us, just as he brought me safe through 
the dangers of the last two or three weeks! — T know 
He will!” and with that, Winny jumped from her 
seat, and bounded up the stairs as buoyant as hope 
could make her, to answer the master’s ring, which 
just then echoed through the house. 

The old gentleman smiled and nodded in a way 
peculiar to himself, saying, as Winny took his hat, 
“It does me good, Winny, to see you at your post 
again 1” 

Winny’s thanks were cut short by the shrill voice 
of Mrs. Coulter, whose head projected from the 
dining-room door, back in the hall. “ Is that Mr. 
Coulter ?” was her somewhat superfluous question. 

“ Don’t you see it is ?” replied her husband, who 
somehow did not relish the question or the tone in 
which it was put. 

“ Well! I didn’t know but it might be some of 
Winny’s visitors, and I have no idea of permitting 
such people to be introduced here at such a time.” 

Winny was already at the head of the kitchen- 
stairs, but she turned back on hearing this singular 
speech, and confronting Mrs. Coulter with a more 


172 K CON o’kegan ; or, 

confident look tkan she had, probably, ever before 
assumed, or had had occasion to assume, she said : 
“ Will you please to tell me, Mrs. Coulter, what you 
mean by them words ?” 

“That is hardly necessary,” said Mrs. Coulter, 
turning into the room ; “ I rather think you under* 
stand my meaning.” 

“ I do not,” said Winny, firmly, “ but I must and 
will know it. Mr. Coulter, I appeal to you, sir.” 

“ Prudence,” said Mr. Coulter, very gravely, “ I 
see you have got some new notion in your head. 
Be so good as to explain it. I am confident that 
Winny has nothing to fear from your speaking out, 
and, moreover, she has a right to demand an expla- 
nation !” 

Thus pressed, Mrs. Coulter was on the point of 
repeating what she had heard to Winny’s disadvan- 
tage, when suddenly remembering the doctor’s 
solemn injunction of secrecy, she wrapped herself 
up once more in her freezing and tantalizing reserve. 

“Don’t be too confident, Samuel!” she said, ad- 
dressing her husband ; “ it may be quite as well for 
Winny that I should withhold the desired explana- 
tion — people do not always know what is good for 
them. At all events, both you and she may rest 
assured that I will not speak another word on the 
subject this night. Go down stairs, Winny !” 

Winny felt half inclined to persist in her demand, 
bat Mr. Coulter seeing that his wife was fully deter- 
mined to keep her secret for that time, said to 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 173 

Winny : “ You may as well do as she bids you, 
Winny. There is time enough to sec to this 
matter.” 

Obedient to her master’s kindly-meant advice, 
Winny descended to the kitchen, but not before she 
heard Rachel saying from her place on a low sofa 
near the fire : “ Dear ma ! how can you talk so to 
poor Winny ? Think of all her kindness to me!” 

What the mother said was lost to Winny’s ears, 
for she had no wish to act the eavesdropper, but 
her heart swelled with grateful affection for Rachel, 
as she murmured within herself: “ She’s her father’s 
daughter, every inch of her I — I did nothing for 
you, poor child I but what I’d do again to-morrow, 
if you stood in need of it, let your mother be as 
she may I” 

Next morning, Winny was up betimes, and had 
the breakfast almost ready when Mrs. Coulter 
entered the kitchen, although she, too, was stirring 
earlier than usual. 

“ You can go now as soon as you like,” said the 
lady of the house, with a frigid reserve, intended to 
prevent Winny from asking troublesome questions. 
“ How much have I to give you V 

“ Nothing, ma’am, — ^not a cent! I wouldn’t do 
what I did for any money, — did it on account of 
my master’s kindness, and because I have a likin’ 
for Miss Rachel, and I’ll never handle a farthing of 
your money, Mrs. Coulter, with my knowledge or 
consent. All I want of you, ma’am, is to tell me 


174 


CON O^REGAN ; OR, 


what you have in again me, an’ I’ll not leave the 
house till I hear it !” 

Fearing lest her husband should be down stairs 
before she could get rid of Winny, Mrs. Coulter 
forgot herself so far as to say : 

“ Ask Dr. Richards — h^ll tell you !” The words 
were scarcely uttered when she was heartily sorry, 
but it was too late to retract. 

“ Dr. Richards, ma’am 1” said Winny, turning red 
and then pale; “so at the bottom of the mis- 
chief! — I might have guessed as much if I had only 
thought a minute. Dr. Richards.indeed I — if he had 
his way, I’d be what he says I am — but what am I 
saying ? — I musn’t forget my duty as a Christian ! — 
May the Lord forgive him, poor man 1 as I forgive 
him this day — though it’s hard enough to do it, I 
don’t deny — but still I do forgive him, as I hope to 
be forgiven at my last hour ! — well ! good-bye, Mrs. 
Coulter ; I suppose there’s nothing more to be said 
— if you can so easily be made to suspect a person 
who has lived in your family for nigh five years, 
anything I could say wouldn’t alter your opinion. 
I leave ray case in the hands of God, and He’ll show, 
in His own good time, whether Dr. Richards and 
you wronged me or not. Good-bye, ma’am 1 I sup- 
pose you don’t want me to see Mr. Coulter before 
1 go, so, of course, I’ll not ask to see him. He 
knows my heart, and that’s enough for me.” 
Taking up her little bundle, she was leaving the 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


115 


kitchen when Mrs. Coulter delayed her a moment 
to insist on her taking payment. 

“ You really must take something for your trouble, 
Winny ! I cannot let you go unpaid.’* 

“ I’ve told you already, ma’am, that I never mean 
to handle a cent of your money ! ’ repeated Winny, 
endeavoring to suppress her indignation. “ No 
money could make up to me for the wrong you have 
done me, so say no more about it. Let me go iu 
peace !” 

“ But won’t you have some breakfast before 
you go ?” 

“ No, ma’am, thank you ! — not a bit. I’ll have my 
bre.akfast where I know I’m welcome.” 

Nothing more was said on either side, and Winny, 
quickening her steps on hearing Mr. Coulter moving 
above, made her way to the door, and thence to the 
street with the least possible noise. 

When Mr. Coulter came down to breakfast he 
was informed by his wife that Winny was “ gone 
off in a pet — pretty work, indeed !” she added, “ for 
no other reason than my giving her that friendly 
advice last evening. Ah ! Samuel, Samuel, I fear 
you and I were both mistaken in that girl !” 

“ I don’t know as to you,” said the old gentle- 
man, tartly, but I have never been mistaken in 
Winny. Never, never, Prudence ! nor never will, I 
am pretty certain. I have always thought her a 
most excellent girl, and so I think her still, Mrs. 
Coulter. Pretty work, you say, and so say I, but 


176 


CON o’kegan ; OR, 


in a far different sense. Pretty work, indeed, to 
see such a girl turned out of this house after her 
long.and faithful services — and, above all, after this 
last heroic act of hers! — ah I woman, you may well 
be ashamed of yourself! you are unworthy of having 
a faithful servant, since you cannot appreciate 
fidelity. You have been listening to some black- 
hearted, foul-mouthed knave — most likely one of 
your canting friends, who has never a good word 
for anything Irish, and you have punished yourself, 
I can assure you, not Winny, — she will make friends, 
wherever she goes, and her character will stand the 
test of inquiry, but you have deprived yourself of 
such a servant as you will never have again on your 
floor ! — get my breakfast, will you ?” 

“ Why, Samuel, how you do talk ! — if you only 
knew who it was that told me, you wouldn’t speak 
so lightly of the matter !'’ 

“ I don’t care who it is, Mrs. Coulter ! if it was 
the Rev. Irving Peabody himself I wouldn’t believe 
it any more than I do now ! Make haste with the 
breakfast, I tell you, and let me go to my business !” 

Immediately after leaving Mr. Coulter’s, Winny 
proceeded to Paul Bergen’s, where, standing on the 
steps outside the door, she bade Mrs. Bergen “good 
morning,” asking whether she might venture in. 
Nora ran forward with outstretched hands to receive 
her, crying out even before she reached her : “ Ven- 
ture in, Winny !— ay ! indeed might you if it was a 
plague-house you were cornin’ from. Come in, astora 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 117 

machree, until I get a right look at you. Well I sure 
enough, you don’t look one-half so bad as I thought 
you would. An’ so, with the blessiu’ of God, you’ve 
escaped the fever ! — och ! sure, sure, aren’t you the 
lucky girl, an’ amn’t I the joyful woman to see you 
lookin’ so well after your long fatigue — Glory, honor, 
and praise be to God !” 

The children were almost wild with joy to see 
their favorite once again, and the two elder pouted a 
good deal because they had to go to school that fore- 
noon. But finding that their mother was inflexible, 
and being assured by Winny that they should find 
her there on their return, they at length made their 
exit, looking as woe-begone as possible. Whilst 
Winny put her clothes in the box, remarking as she 
did so that she had washed them well the day be- 
fore, JSTora had some tea drawn, and a nice round of 
toast made, and poor Winny required no pressing^ 
for, as she said herself, what Mrs. Bergen gave 
out of her hand did a body good, it was given with 
such a good heart. 

‘‘ An’ now, Winny, what’s the news ?” said her 
anxious friend ; “ I thought you’d be prevailed upon 
to stay at Mr. Coulter’s.” 

“ To tell you the truth, Mrs. Bergen dear, I 
wasn’t asked to stay. Mrs. Coulter seems to have 
taken some dislike to me, an’ as soon as ever Miss 
Rachel was able to go about, she warned me to clear 
out. She was in the kitchen this morning bright an’ 
early, to get me away before the master was afoot.” 


1^8 


CON o’rEQaN ; OR, 


“ The Lord bless me, Winny, what sort of a woman 
is she at all? — why, she must have a heart as hard as ' 
a Slone P Poor Nora’s earnest simplicity brought j 
a smile to Winny ’s face, but she merely answered : 

“ I don’t know how it is. To tell the truth of her 
I never found her hard-hearted until now — she had 
always a cold, stiff kind of a way with her, but then . 
she had more feelin’ in her at times than a body 
would think. God knows how it is, and to Him I 
leave it. I’m goin’ to Father Timlin on Saturday, 
please God, before I go to any other place, an’ I’ll 
speak to him about it, an’ see what he’ll say.” 

It will be seen that Winny, with her usual pru- 
dence, gave no hint of the real state of tbe case. 
When Saturday came she went to Father Timlin, and 
after finishing her confession, told him as briefly as 
possible the whole affair from beginning to end. 

“ And now, father,” said she, “ I want you to tell 
me what’s best for me to do.” 

“ Have you spoken of this to any one — ^I mean of 
that man’s conduct towards you?” 

“ No, father, not a word 1” 

“ You have acted wisely, my child, and as became 
a Christian. Persevere in the same course, and be 
sure that God will take care of your reputation. 
Nothing short of actual necessity should induce you 
to speak of such a thing. The evil designs of that 
bad man were defeated through the ever-watchful 
care of Providence, and your own prompt decision. 
Be of good heart, daughter, for tbe shafts of the 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 179 

TFicked one fall powerless wlien aimed at those who 
love God and trast in Him I” 

Strengthened and consoled by these paternal 
counsels, Winny returned to her temporary home, 
her mind freed from every shadow of uneasiness, and 
prepared to take anything that might befal her as 
coming from the hand of God. She saw Con that 
same evening, and heard all he had to communicate 
with regard to his change of prospects. 

“ I went to see the old ladies,” said he, “ as Mr. 
Coulter told me, and they say theyMl lend me the 
money with all the pleasure in life. I declare they’re 
two fine old ladies, Winny, just the model of the 
master himself, one of them especially, that’s Miss 
Debby, the youngest of the two. An’ so, it’s all 
settled now that I’m to go out to Iowa early in the 
spring, if I can find anybody goin’. But sure if I 
don’t, Winny dear, I’d never find my way at all — 
how could I ?” 

“ Oh ! never mind that. Con,” said his sister, with 
tears that were neither all joy nor all sorrow trick- 
ling down her faded cheek; “ if it’s the will of God 
for you to go, you'll get safe to your journey's end, 
you may be sure ! But what about Biddy and the 
children ? — won’t you wait for them?” 

“ Oh no, Winny, the master says it’s best for me 
to go out there and prepare a home for them and 
you before I send for you. You’ll just stay as you 
are till they come out from Ireland, and then, with 
Gk)d’s help. I’ll send for you all I” 


180 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

Winny smiled through her tears, and was about 
CO speak, but Paul Bergen broke out with : 

“ I wish to the Lord I was able to go with you, 
Con ! — if I was, I wouldn’t call the king my cousip. 
But sure, sure,” he added, with a sigh, “ what chance 
has poor Paul Bergen of such a turn-up as that ?” 

“Hut, tut, man, don’t be so faint-hearted,” said 
Con ; “ you don’t know what may be in store for 
you. See what luck came to me, just when I was 
least expectin’ it.” 

“ True for you, Con,” put in Hora ; “ people can 
make luck for themselves if they only try — that is, 
with the blessin’ of God. And sure, Paul dear, if 
we never get any uprise, only jist keep as we are, 
why we can’t complain. For my part, I’m as well 
content as any poor woman needs to be — if we can 
only get the children brought up in the love and 
fear of God, I wish for nothing more.” 

“ Yes, but Nora,” said her husband, “ if sickness 
was to come on me, or death — what would you and 
the children do ? — you’re not able for any bard 
work, an’ so they’d have an excuse that you weren’t 
fit to support them, an’ they’d take them every one 
from you, as like as not, an’ cram them into some 
cursed school, or House of Refuge, as they call 
them, bad luck to them for man-traps, as they are 1 
where they’d be made black Protestants of. How 
would you like that, Nora ?” 

“The Lord save us, Paul!” said Nora, with a 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


181 


pale cheek and a quivering lip ; “ don’t be talkin’ 
: that way — don’t now, an’ God bless you.” 

' “ Well, I’m only just telling you what might hap- 

f pen if the Lord was pleased to call me away ; an’ 
) aow don’t you think it would be a good chance if 
! we could get on a farm away out in a new place, 
amongst our own country people, where we’d have 
no trouble in bringing up the children, an’ where 
you’d have a house and a lot of land to rear them on ? 
I eh! Nora?” 

Poor Nora’s eyes brightened at the cheering pros- 
pect, but heaving a deep sigh, she said : “ Where’s 
the use talkin’, though, of what can never come to 
pass ?” 

Never ik a long lime, Mrs. Bergen,” remarked 
Con, as he moved towards the door; “ don’t forget 
the old saying : ‘ Hope well and have well !’ — good- 
bye now, all of you — I’ll be here again, Winny, to- 
morrow evening, please God !” 



182 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


CHAPTER XI. 

Late in the forenoon on the following day, Winny 
was surprised by a visit from two elderly ladies, 
dressed exactly alike, in muff and tippet of rich 
marten, and long cloak of the finest cloth. These 
were the two Miss Coulters, who, equally benevo- 
lent with their brother, had come to take Winny 
home with them. 

^‘We keep but one servant, Winny,” said Miss 
Coulter, “ and we have had the same one for three 
years. Of course, we couldn’t think of parting her, 
but my brother says that you can do plain work 
very well, and so we can find employment for you. 
But you must not expect high wages, Winny ! — four 
dollars a month is as much as we can give you, as 
we pay Letty seven, and eleven dollars a month is 
as much as we can well afford. But then we can 
promise you a comfortable, quiet home, and Letty 
and you will get on well together — I am sure you 
will. Don’t you think so, Debby ?” 

Miss Debby did think so, and added that Letty 
was an Irish girl, too — “ that is,” said she, “ she is 
of Irish parents. She is not of your religion, Winny 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 183 

but you mustn’t mind that. There’s no need quar- 
relling about religion.” 

“Well 1” said Mrs. Coulter, “do you think you’ll 
come, Winny ?” 

“ Oh ! indeed, then I will, miss, and thank you 
kindly for the offer.” 

“Yery good, Winny I we have a carriage at the 
door, you see, and will take you right off.” 

“ I am very sorry, miss,” said Winny, hesitatingly, 
“ but Mrs. Bergen — that’s the woman of the house— 
is gone out to market, an’ I can’t well go till she gets 
back.” 

“ Oh ! if that’s all, we can wait — can’t we, Deb- 
by ?” 

“ Certainly I” Miss Debby said, and down the two 
ladies sat on chairs previously dusted by Winny 
with much care. So they called to them little Jim, 
who had been whipping his top before their en- 
trance, but had forthwith retreated into a remote cor- 
ner, whence he looked with wondering eyes on the 
“ grand ladies,” dwelling with as much curiosity as 
admiration on their rich furs, which were something 
new to Jim. It required many pressing invitations 
from the ladies, enforced by an imperative command 
from Winny, before the urchin would leave his cor- 
ner, but at length he moved slowly out of his en- 
trenchment behind a chair, and lash in hand, ap- 
proached Miss Debby as the most prepossessing of 
the two. At first the child was rather shy, but after 
a while he became quite communicative, and even 


184 CON o’regan ; or, 

ventured to ask what they were, pointing to the 
furs. 

“ These, child ?” said the good-natured Debby ; 
“ oh I these are the skins of animals made into cloth* 
ing for men and women. This solution was far 
from being satisfactory to Jim, who continued to 
eye the mysterious objects from time to time, as 
though he wished he could make out what manner 
of things they were. The visitors gradually wound 
themselves into the boy’s confidence, and he would 
willingly have given them the most minute informa- 
tion concerning matters in general appertaining to 
the household, had they not themselves turned his 
thoughts into another channel, by asking if he was 
sorry to lose Winny. 

“ Lose Winny ?” he repeated, inquiringly. 

“ Yes, Winny is going with us, you know.” 

This was very intelligible to Jim, and he replied 
accordingly : “Me no let Winny go.” 

“ Oh! but she will come back soon to see you.” 

The child shook his head, and repeated stoutly : 
“ Me no let her go.” Before any more could be 
said his mother came in, bending under the weight 
of her basket, though its contents were not very 
heavy, and very much flurried, too, she was at sight 
of the carriage, Seeing the two ladies so quietly 
seated in her humble dwelling did not tend to quiet 
her nerves, but she nevertheless set down her 
basket and dropped a very low curtsey, saying: 

“ Your servant, ladies.” Then seeing Winny put- 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORIJ). 


185 


ting on her bonnet, she approached her, and asked 
in a whisper: “What are you about, honey ?— sure 
you’re not going away ?” 

“Yes I am,” said Winny, in an audible voice; 
“the two Miss Coulters, you see, are come for me 
to go an’ live with them.” 

“ fla ! ha!” said Nora, exultingly, unmindful of 
the presence of the ladies : “ See that now, Winny 
astore^ — that’s just the ould sayin’ ; ‘ there never was 
one door shut but there was another open.’ Well ! 
I’m sorry to lose you, alanna machree ! but I know 
it’s for your own good this time, so I’ll not repine. 
May the Lord bless you, an’ that He will, wherever 
you go.” 

After a few civil words from the sisters to Mrs. 
Bergen, responded to by sundry smiles and blushes 
on her part, they each gave Jim a quarter dollar 
to buy “ sweeties,” charging him to divide with 
the Janie and Patsey of whom he had told them so 
much, and not to forget the baby. 

“ But baby ha’nt got any teeth,” said Jim, follow- 
ing them to the door, partly to get a last kiss from 
Winny and partly to impress the fact of baby’s inca- 
pacity to eat candy on the minds of his new ac- 
quaintances. “Mother says he’ll have some teeth 
soon, though, and me can keep some candy for him 
till then.” 

“ Very good, Jim,” said Miss Debby, stopping at 
the door to pat the boy’s curly head, “ but I fear the 
candy won’t keep so long,” she laughingly added 


186 CON o’regan ; or, 

“ ITevcr mind, 1 11 send or bring you more before 
then.” 

This promise was very seasonable at the moment, 
as it served to divert Jim’s mind from dwelling on 
Winny’s departure, which he now witnessed with 
philosophic composure, wholly intent on showing his 
prize to his mother, who stood at the bottom of the 
steps till the carriage moved off, when having ex- 
changed a parting nod with Winny, she hastily ap- 
proached the cradle to look after “ poor baby,” me- 
ditating the while on the wonderful goodness of God 
in providing for those who love and serve Him. • 

The house occupied by the Misses Coulter was a 
neat, plain building in a private street, whose two 
rows of brick were shaded and agreeably contrasted 
by corresponding rows of tall trees. The house con- 
sisted of two apartments on the first fioor, divided 
by folding doors, and flanked by a narrow hall from 
which the stairs led to two apartments of similar 
proportions on the second floor, serving as bed- 
rooms for the sisters, while those below constituted 
their parlor and dining-room. On the attic story 
were two small rooms, one of which was Letty’s 
chamber, to be henceforward shared by Winny. The 
other was used as a kind of store-room. The kitchen 
was, of course, under ground, approached by an area 
from without. Everything within and around the 
house was, as may be imagined, scrupulously neat, 
and, to do Letty justice, she was herself the picture 
ef cleanliness, and the most active of servants, 


SMIGRANT MFE IN THE NEW WORi.D. 187 

although the dumpiest of all little dumpy women, 
(Lord Byron’s special abomination.) Fortunately for 
Winny, this little bustling personage — whose age 
might be about thirty or so — was as good natured as 
she w'as active, and it pleased her mightily to have a 
girl of Winny’s appearance for a companion. 

“ I guess you’ll find it rather dull here,” said she, 
after receiving Winny from the hands of Miss 
Coulter at the head of the stairs, whence she con- 
veyed her to a seat near the stove, and with her own 
hands took off her bonnet, remarking that her fingers 
must be “kind of numb” — “I guess you’ll find it 
rather dull. ’ 

“I guess I won’t,” said Winny, good-humoredly, 
much pleased with her companion’s manner, and 
readily falling in with her peculiar humor, — “ I’ll 
never fault a place for being quiet, and I’ve made up 
my mind to be happy here whether you like it or 
not.” 

“ Well ! now, if that an’t real good of you !” said 
Letty ; “ Miss Debby told me you was a very good 
girl, and I do think you are. How’s your brother ?” 

“ Very well, thank you,” said Winny, in some sur- 
prise ; “ but how did you know I had a brother ?” 

“ O la me ! didn’t the ladies tell me all about him 
and you. Bless you ! I know all about the fire, and 
the fever, and how Mrs. Coulter was kinder ungrate- 
ful-like, and how Mr. Coulter and the ladies are a- 
going to send you two away out West to a faim, 
end how you’re to stay here with us till your brother 


1S8 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


Bends for you ! — why, child, I know it all !*’ conclud- 
ed Letty, almost breathless after her rapid summary 
of the O'Regan affairs. 

“I see you do, indeed,” said Winny, laughing; 
“and now that you know all about me, so well, will 
you let me ask you one question ?” 

“ Why, yes — a thousand, if you like.” 

“ Only one, Letty ! — were you born here or in 
Ireland ?” 

“My stars! — born in Ireland — why, how did you 
come to think of that ? I was not born ten miles 
from this here city.” 

“ Why, Miss Coulter told me you were Irisli.” 

“ Oh I she just said that because father and mo- 
ther came from there. But then they both died 
when I was a youngster — seven or eight years old, 
or thereabouts, and I was raised by a lady out there 
where father and mother died.” 

Winny’s countenance fell. “ Then you’re not a 
Catholic!” said she; “indeed. Miss Coulter told me 
you were not I” 

“ Me a Catholic — a Romanist 1” said Letty, dis- , 
tending her round blue eyes to their widest dimen- 
sions, as she fixed them on Winny; “why, no! — I 
a’nt any such a thing. Missis was a Baptist, but I 
never felt any pertiklar call to that ’ere religion, so I 
never did join any church, because missis said, says 
she, ‘you’ll be sure to join ^is some day soon, so mind 
you don’t join any other church— if you do,’ says 
she, ‘I’ll never forgive you — never.’ So, you see, it 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


189 


was all the same to me to join or not, because why, 
I don’t think it makes much difference what religion 
any one belongs to, if they’ll only do what’s right, 
and then missis was so kind and so motherly-like 
that I wouldn’t go for to break her heart by joining 
any other church, and as for your church, Winny, 
why ! bless you I missis wouldn’t go within a mile 
of a Papist meeting-house if she could avoid it.” 

“ I suppose, then, your father and mother were 
Protestants ?” 

“Well, I rather think not,” said Letty, in a care- 
less tone ; “ some folks say they were Catholics, 
but for my part I don’t know, and suppose they 
were,” she added, apologetically, “ why that couldn’t 
be helped-^they came from Ireland, as missis used 
to say, and I guess most of the folks there are of that 
persuasion — a’nt they ?” 

“ A good many of them,” said Winny, “ not all, 
though. But you don’t seem to care much about 
your parents, Letty.” 

“ Oh, well ! I hadn’t ought to, I wa’nt brought up 
with theni^ you know. But don’t you feel like eating 
something ? Dinner won’t be ready for near an 
hour.” 

“ Winny thanked her and said she did not feel 
hungry, but would like to get something to do. 

“ All right, Winny,” said her new friend ; “ I al- 
ways like to see folks fond of doing something. I 
guess you’re none of the lazy ones. I’ll just go up 
as soon as I baste this here mutton,” opening the 


190 


CON o’regan j or, 

oven-door as she spoke, “ and ask Miss Coulter for 
some work for you.’^ 

“ Oh ! never mind the basting,’^ said Winny, tuck- 
iog up her sleeves, “ leave it to me, and go up at 
once, like a good girl !” 

Letty went accordingly, and speedily returned 
with a neatly-folded parcel of white cotton in one 
hand and a small work-basket in the other. “ Miss 
Coulter sends you this, Winny,” said she, “ and sho 
says only you’re a stranger yet, and must needs bo 
lonesome-like for a day or two, she wouldn’t have 
you work in the kitchen. It’s up stairs in Miss 
Debby’s room you’re to work after you get settled. 
But I guess,” said Letty, lowering her voice to a 
confidential whisper, “ I guess if they find that you 
keep the work clean, they won’t mind where it is 
done. Our ladies a’nt very particular that way. 
There now, take that little table, and sit you down 
by the winder. I tell you what, Winny, I guess we 
shall have good times together, with nothing on 
earth to trouble us except our work, and there a’nt 
any too much of that either, if we only go right 
straight on with it.” 

When Winny took up her work at nightfall to 
show it to the ladies, she found them playing chess 
at a small table drawn up close to the hearth. This, 
as Winny afterwards perceived, was their evening’s 
occupation all the week round, Sunday, of course, 
excepted. The old ladies were, like their brother, 
not addicted to any particular notion of religion : 


EinGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


191 


they read their Bible, especially on Sabbath even- 
ings, and went twice every Lord’s Day to hear the 
word according to the Rev. Bertram Shillingworth, 
a divine who W’as just then very popular indeed in 
those parts, for and because of his preaching after 
no man’s fashion but out of the fulness of his own 
soul, which was, as he said, an overflowing cistern 
of sweet water for the children of God’s covenant. 
He was what might be called an independent 
preacher, in other words he preached “ on his own 
hook,” if we may be permitted to apply such 
homely phrase to the dapper, insinuating, and very 
polite minister of Jefferson street Church, thus 
designated in lieu of any doctrinal appellation. 
But as we have already hinted with regard to the 
Misses Coulter, what religion they had was by 
no means of an acrimonious or aggressive kind. 
Well content with themselves and all the 'world 
(“ Samuel’s wife” hardly excepted), they glided from 
week to week, fi om Sabbath, to Sabbath, “ along 
the even tenor of their way,” quite willing that 
every one should go to heaven after his own fashion, 
and firmly persuaded that all mankind, without 
exception, were destined to be gathered, some 
sooner, some later, into the garners of the Lord. 
This may appear something like Universalism, but 
still the good ladies never actually professed that, 
or any other ^sw^, they were merely “ somewhat 
more charitable than their neighbors,” and thought 
it wholly impossible that a God of infinite goodness 


102 


30N O^REGAN ; OR, 

could consigQ any of His creatures to an endless 
round of torments. 

We have left the sisterS; meanwhile, engaged in 
the inspection of Winny’s work, the progress of the 
investigation being duly noted by divers significant 
nods and gracious smiles directed at each other. 
First, Miss Coulter inspected it over, then handed 
it to her sister, who did likewise, then both ad- 
dressed Winny, who stood quietly behind Miss 
Coulter’s chair : 

“ Why, really, Winny, you work very well — very 
well, indeed,” 

“ Small thanks to me, miss,” said Winny, for it’s 
sewing I used to be at home most of my time.” 

“Well, now, Debby,” said Miss Coulter, address- 
ing her sister, “ that is very fortunate, very fortu- 
nate indeed.” 

“ As how, Dolly 

“ Why, don’t you see ? — she will have a good 
chance out West there when she goes. There will 
be no lack of work, you know. But, Winny, did 
you ask your brother to come and see you here ?” 

“ Oh yes, miss, thank you — he said he’d come 
very soon.” 

“ Because you know it a’nt here like Sammy’s — T 
mean my brother’s. He can come here just as 
often as he likes to. Don’t forget that !” 

“But, Winny,” interposed Miss Debby, “tel! 
your brother he mustn’t begin to think o-f our 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 193 

i Letty. W e couldn’t get along without Letty, you 
know !” 

Winny could hardly keep from laughing, and was 
fortunately saved the trying task of answering as 
gravely as the injunction was given, by the elder 
sister exclaiming : 

“Why, how you talk, my dear! don’t you re- 
member that Sammy told us the young man was 
married, so we needn’t be the least afraid of him 
taking to Letty.” 

“ Oh dear, yes !” said the other; “ I had quite for- 
gotten. Well! Winny, you may go down stairs 
; now, and you need’nt sew any more to-night.” 

Winny made a hasty retreat, being still in rather 
! a laughing mood, for there was something irresist- 
i ibly comical in hearing a grave, elderly gentleman 
; of Mr. Coulter’s position designated as Sammy, the 
; name, doubtless, by which his sisters had addressed 
; him in their childish days. And so it was. The 
: “ Debby,” and “ Dolly,” and “ Sammy,” which had 
been the play-names of their early' infancy, sat awk- 
; wardly to stranger ears on the worthy trio, the 
youngest of whom had long since passed into “ the 
’ sere and yellow leaf” of life’s autumnal season. But 
to themselves there was nothing strange in the old 
“ household words ” to which their ears had been at- 
' tuned from earliest childhood. Time had dealt 
kindly with all the three, and the wrinkles which 
furrowed their cheeks had no corresponding traces 
on their kind, benevolent hearts. The sisters, es- 


194 


CON O^KEQAN ; OR, 

peciallj, had lived together all their lives, and theii 
hearts were attuned to the same feelings, their 
minds regulated by the same principles, if principles 
their simple rules of action could be called. Bitter- 
ness there was none in their composition ; a little, a 
very little acid there might be, and that was reserved 
for “Sammy’s wife,” who had early repelled the 
kindly advances of her sisters-in-law because they 
would keep going to that Jefferson street Church, 
that fount of muddy water, where the Word of the 
Lord was wrested even to the destruction of those 
who heard it. Other reasons for Mrs. Coulter’s 
coolness were whispered about amongst her intimate 
friends, but fortunately for the peace of mind of the 
worthy sisters they rarely or never saw any of that 
particular set, and consequently never heard the 
private and more secret sentiments wherewith their 
saintly relative regarded them. Their nieces they 
sometimes saw, as they occasionally accompanied 
their father in his visits, and latterly they had begun 
to call once in a while without him, on their return 
from school or the like. Rachel was the favorite 
with both her aunts, principally because she “ be- 
longed to their side of the house,” while Hannah 
resembled her mother, at least in appearance. Still 
the good ladies dispensed their favors with laudable 
impartiality, so that even Hannah herself never sus- 
pected their greater predilection for Rachel. 

After chatting an hour or so with Letty while the 
latter “cleaned her silver” for the following day, 


IMIGRAIT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD 195 

Winny took ont her heads, remarking that as it 
must be pretty cold up in the attics, she would say 
her. prayers before they went up. 

“ Be quick, then,” said Letty, “ for I’ll be soon 
ready to go to bed.” 

Wiciny knelt at a chair near the stove and com- 
menced saying her night-prayers, of which the 
Rosary always formed a part, very soon forgetting 
the presence of Letty and her injunction to use dis- 
patch, as she fixed her thoughts successively on the 
five joyful mysteries, and raised her heart to God 
with simple, earnest love. 

I Meanwhile Letty, having finished her work, took 
her station in front of the stove, with her feet rest- 
ing on the pan, in order to prepare for bed by a 
good warming of her body from head to heel. 

’ Luxuriating in the grateful warmth, a soothing calm 
: stole over her senses, and Letty, too, was soon lost 
in the tranquil embrace of the drowsy god. Winny 
knelt and prayed, but no sound came from her lips, 
Letty slumbered on her chair, and the venerable 
; Grimalkin of the household napped cozily at her 
i side on the floor. But Letty’s slumbers were not 
! unbroken, for e^er and anon she would start and 
■ look around, then rub her eyes' as though endeavor- 
ing to recover the use of her suspended faculties, 
then glance at the silent, motionless figure of her 
; companion, and muttering some brief ejaculation of 
f reproof, she would drop gently again, and without 
an effort, into the world of dreams. At last Mrs, 


196 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


Puss, probably bearing a mouse stirring somewhere 
near, made a bound in the direction of the noise, 
and even her light weight, coming pounce on the 
floor, was sufficient to disturb Letty, who, starting 
to her feet, cast a searching, bewildered glance 
around, then her eyes fell on Winny, and the mea- 
sure of her patience was exhausted. 

“ Why, Lord’s sake, Winny ! are you a-going to 
pray all night ? — if you are, just say so, will you ? 
and I’ll go to bed. There a’nt any use in me wait- 
ing here like this ?” 

Winny had just finished her prayers, so she calmly 
blessed herself and arose to her feet, saying, with a 
smile : “ I wasn’t very long, was I ?” 

“Long! why I kinder thought you’d never be 
done. I’m tired to death waiting, and can hardly 
keep my eyes open.” Of course she hadn’t tried, 
but she didn’t mind saying so. “ What on earth 
have you got to say when you kneel so that keeps 
you such a mortal long time ?” 

“ Oh I I have many things to say, Letty, that it 
wouldn’t answer me to leave zmsaid. I have to pray 
for myself and all belongin’ to me, both living and 
dead.” 

A good-humored laugh was Letty’s response, as 
she took up the lamp and examined the fastenings 
of door and window. “ Living and dead !” she re- 
peated ; “ well ! if that a’nt a good one ! — why, now, 
Winny, can’t you let the living pray for themselves, 
they can do it as well as you, if they want to, and 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 191 

Rs for the dead, why, it’s all up with them. It’s only 
wasting your breath praying for them. I tell you 
what now, Winny, you’re a real sensible girl, and 
I kind of like you, but mind and don’t keep me 
waiting another night while you pray for the living 
and the dead ! Don’t now, Winny, or you and I’ll 
have a tiff about it. I a’nt a-going to put up with 
any such nonsense.” 

Winny promised to say her prayers up stairs for 
the future, so as not to keep Letty waiting. Her 
heart ached for the heathen darkness which ob- 
scured that naturally good understanding, and she 
murmured within herself as they ascended the 
stairs together : “ Isn’t it a thousand pities to see 
such a good-natured, open-hearted creature so blind 
in regard to religion ! — and to think that her pa- 
rents were both Catholics — my ! my ! isn’t it too 
bad ? — may the Lord open her eyes to the light of 
truth.” 

After muttering half aloud a drowsy prayer to be 
“ strengthened in grace,” &c., Letty hastily doffed 
her garments and tumbled into bed, Winny very 
soon following her example. 

On the following morning, soon afler breakfast, 
there came a gentle, hesitating ring to the door, 
whereupon Letty exclaimed : “ That’s Peggy — I’m 
sure it is ! — she ought to have been here yesterday I 
Will you just step up and open the door, Winny, 
and bring Peggy down here till I go up and tell the 
ladies, after I get through with these dishes ?” 


198 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


Winny hastened to the door, wondering who 
Peggy might be, and was rather surprised to see a 
pretty, youthful-looking girl led by a little boy. 
This circumstance revealed all too clearly that the 
light of heaven shining so brightly at the moment 
was unseen by the dark, lustrous eyes which moved 
so restlessly in their sockets, as though the girl 
would seek to penetrate the gloom in which she was 
shrouded. 

“ Are the ladies at home, Letty ?” said the blind 
girl, softly. 

Winny replied in the affirmative, but her voice 
was strange to Peggy, who started and changed 
color. 

“ Is Letty gone ?” was the next question, as Peggy 
entered the hall with the assistance of Winny and 
her young guide. 

“ Oh, no !’’ said Winny, very gently, “ you’ll find 
her in the kitchen below. I’m only here sewing 
for a start. Just give me your hand, dear, till I 
take you down stairs.” 

“ Ah ! God bless you, ma colleen hawnV^ said Peg- 
gy, warmly squeezing the hand that held hers. 

Winny laughed pleasantly ; “ why, how do you 
know I’m a colleen hawnT"^ she asked. 

“ Oh ! I know it by your voice, alanna ! an’ your 
soft kindly band. Your voice is very sweet, an’ it 
goes down into my heart. It puts me in mind of 
the purty blackbirds and thrushes that used to sing 
in the trees and bushes in a place we ll never see 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 199 

igain ! See !” she repeated with a deep-drawn sigh 
— “ how could we — at least some of ns, when the 
Bight is gone from ns forever ?” 

They had now reached the kitchen, where Letty 
gave a cordial reception to the blind girl, and seated 
her near the stove. 

“ What on earth kept yon away yesterday ?” said 
she ; “ the ladies were real anxions abont yon, for 
fear something had happened.” 

“Well! nothing at all had happened, yon see,’ 
said Peggy, with a smile, “ bnt I hadn’t all the socks 
done, an’ I thonght there was no nse cornin’ till I’d 
have them all.” 

“No more there wasn’t. Bnt how’s all at home, 
and how’s Tom ?” 

There was a blnnt archness in the latter part of 
the qnestion, which did not escape Winny, and she 
fixed her eyes on Peggy’s face in order to note the 
effect, bnt Peggy’s face was a book which it reqnired 
long practice to read, so that Winny made nothing 
of her scrntiny fnrther than what Peggy’s brief an- 
swer conveyed. 

“ He’s well, an’ so are all oiyf people. Thank yon 
kindly for askin’. Can I speak to either of the 
ladies, Letty? I’m in a hnrry this mornin’, for 
Anty’s goin’ ont after I get back.” 

“ Come along, then, and I’ll bring yon np to them. 
They’re in the dining-room. 

“ Stay there, Johnny,” said Peggy to her yoimg 
gnide, “ an’ we’ll call yon np when I’m ready to go. 


200 


co-v o’kegan ; or, 

Where are you, Winny?’’ she had heard Letty 
mention Winny’s name, which her quick ear was not 
slow in taking up, “ God be with you, astore ! — my 
heart warms to you ! — indeed it does !” 

“ And mine to you, Peggy !” was the fervent an- 
swer, and as Winny grasped the hand of her new 
friend the tears trickled from her eyes. 

Entering into conversation with the little boy, 
Winny found that Peggy was his aunt, but further 
information she did not ask from him. The boy 
was shy, too, and by no means communicative, and 
notwithstanding Winny’s efforts to draw him out, he 
still kept eyeing her askance, and could hardly be 
got to answer a question. At the sound of Letty’s 
voice calling him, he scampered up stairs with right 
good will, and laid hold of his aunt’s hand with re- 
newed cheerfulness and activity. 

When they were gone Letty returned to the 
kitchen and her unfinished task of putting away the 
breakfast things. Winny continued her work in si- 
lence, thinking the while of the strangely-interesting 
blind girl, and wishing to know something more 
about her, yet unwilling to question Letty on the 
subject. But Letty, judging others by herself, said 
abruptly : 

‘‘Now, I guess you want to know all about that 
’ere girl, don’t you ?” Winny started and blushed 
slightly. “There, I knew it — there a’nt any use 
denying it, so Pll tell you. She’s a girl of the name 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. * 201 

of Peggy Daly, and she lives with a sister of hers, a 
Mrs. Brady.” 

“ What I the wife of one Barney Brady down in 
Hope street, below ?” 

“Yes! that’s the man, and so Peggy lives with 
them, ever since she lost her eyesight by the means 
of a bad cold she got not long after she came to 
this here place. She’s a famous knitter, is Peggy, 
and our ladies found her out somehow and took 
quite a liking to her. They keep her in work most 
of the time, for when they have none themselves 
they ask it from their friends, and so Peggy always 
earns a little that makes her kind of independent. 
To my sartin kno ledge she might have a home 
here all her life, but somehow she’d rather stay at 
her sister’s. I tell you hat,” said Letty, drawing 
near Winny and letting her voice fall almost to a 
whisper, “ I guess she has some very pertiklar rea- 
sons for staying there sooner than anywhere else — 
howsomever, that’s a secret, and I don’t want to 
pry into folk’s private business.” 

If Winny had been able to look into Letty’s heart 
at that moment, she would have said “ sour grapes, 
Letty!” but as it was, she only said “nor I neither, 
Letty !” and so the conversation dropped. 


202 


CON O^REGAN ; OB, 


CHAPTER XII. 

About a week after Winny had taken up her abode 
in the house of the Misses Coulter, Paul Bergen 
asked his wife when he was about to return to his 
work after dinner, whether she had a quarter-dollar. 

“ Well! I have,” said Xora, with some hesitation, 
“ but Pm afeard I’ll hardly have enough to do us till 
Saturday night, so, unless you’re badly in want of it, 
Paul, I’d rather not give it.” 

“Oh come, Nora!” said her husband, “hand it 
over here. There’s a letter in the office for me with 
a quarter-dollar postage.” 

“A letter! my goodness, Paul ! why didn’t you 
tell me that at oust? — where can it be from ?” 

“From! why from Ireland, where else? — stir 
yourself, Nora, and get me the money, an’ I’ll call at 
the office now before I go back. It isn’t one yet. I’ll 
have it with me when I come home in the evenin’.” 

“Well! be sure an’ come early, Paul, for I’ll be 
on pins and needles till I hear what’s in the letter, 
an’ who it’s from.” 

So Paul got the needful and went his ways. Nora 
went about the house all the long afternoon, and how 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


203 


I long it did Beem ! — going through her work with 
I mechanical precision, but thinking ever on the letter 
I in Paul’s pocket, and wondering where on earth it 
could be from. 

“ With what a leaden and retarding weight 
Does expectation load the wings of time !” 

BO every hour seemed the length of a day to poor 
I Nora. When the children came home from school 
I there was a sort of temporary diversion, for their 
mother had then somebody to whom she could talk 
( on the engrossing subject, and their anxiety, or ra- 
ther curiosity, was as strongly excited as her own. 
By this time evening came on, and the six o’clock 
chime rang merrily out from the thousand factories 
and work-yards of the great city, and then every 
minute seemed an hour. The children ran up the 
steps, now one, now another, anxiously “looking 
out for father,” and Nora herself had been more than 
once to the door before the well-known step was 
heard without. Patsey and Jim ran to catch each 
a hand of their father, and thus conducted he en- 
tered the cellar. Nora looked at him with an eager, 
searching glance, but Paul only laughed, and told 
Patsey to go off for Andy Dwyer. “ He’ll be at his 
supper now likely, but tell him to come as soon as 
ever he’s done. Well, Nora!” he added, gaily, 
“ have you my supper ready ?” 

“Yes, yes, Paul, it’s just ready,” and laying tho 
baby on Jane’s knee, she proceeded to place it on 
the table ; “ but what about the letter?” 


204 


CCN O'REGAN J OR, 


“The letter,” said Paul, with affected forgetful* 
ness ; “ oh ! to be sure ! I was forgettin’ all about it. 
Now who do you think it’s from, of all people in the 
world 

Nora guessed and guessed, but Paul still laughed 
and shook his head: “You’re out again, Nora. I 
see you’re a poor hand at guessin’, so Pll not keep 
you any longer in suspense. Do you mind my 
brother Felix that came out here xo America three 
or four years afore we were married?” 

“ Lord bless me ! to be sure I do!” cried Nora, all 
over in a tremble, as she afterwards said, “ what 
about him, Paul ?” 

“ Why, nothing in the world only that this letter 
in my hand is from him.” 

“ An’ where on earth is he ? — many an’ many’s the 
day we watched for some account of him, I’m sure, 
an’ when times were worst with us too. Myself was 
often an’ often thinkin’ that he’d turn up some day 
an’ give us a lift. An’ so he’s alive an’ well, you 
say ?” 

“I didn’t say a word of the kind,” said Paul, 
laughing, “ but it’s true enough for all that.” 

“ An’ where is he, at all, that we could never make 
him out ? Sure yourself was afeard that he wasn’t 
above ground this many a year I” 

“ He w, then, above ground, thanks be to God ! an’ 
where do you think he is ?” 

“ Oh ! you know there’s no use in me tryin’ to 
guess.” 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


205 


“Well! he’s out in the very place that Con 
0 'Began is goin’ to.” 

“ Why, then, Paul I is it in earnest you are? Don’t 
be schemin’ on us now 1” 

“It’s truth I tell you, Nora, an’ you’ll see it is 
when you hear the letter. He was workin’ here an’ 
there in different places for five or six years after he 
came out, an’ by the same token, he wrote a good 
many letters, but you see we never got them because 
I was out here an’ he didn’t know it, an’ kept writin* 
home for a couple of years, an’ could get no answer, 
till he began to give us all up for dead. Well! at 
last he went to St. Louis, a great city out in them 
parts, an’ worked there a start, till he came to hear 
of this fine new country where it was so easy to get 
land, an’ as soon as he could put enough together — ► 
an’ it was easy for him, bekase he had no family only 
himself an’ his wife — he married Judy Lenihan, you 
know, the summer before he left home, an’ so off 
they set for Iowa — I b’lieve that’s what they call it — 
an’ they got a fine farm there not many miles from 

a town they call Du , Du . Oh ! then, haven’t! 

I the bad memory 1” Taking out the letter, he 
searched and searched till he found the name — . 
“ well ! sure enough, it’s a quare name, too.” After 
some spelling he made out the word Dubuque j 
though we will not answer for the correctness of 
Paul’s pronunciation, at his nearest approach to the 
word. However, that was of as small importance in 
Paul’s estimation as it was in that of his wife, who 


206 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


said, with nervous impatience: *'Oh! then, never 
mind the name — go on an’ tell us the rest.” 

“Kota word more you’ll hear now till I finish 
my supper, Kora,” said Paul, in his blithesome way. 

“Indeed, then, you’re light enough, Paul,” said 
Kora; “you’re not in a good way of talkin’ or read- 
in’ till you get your supper. Sit down, children, an’ 
fall to, till we get these things out of the way.” The 
children were quite willing to obey, and took their 
seats with commendable alacrity. Supper was more 
welcome even than the letter. 

As for Kora she could think or talk of nothing 
else. Her joy was so great that she could eat little 
or nothing, and her appetite vanished entirely when 
Paul said, with a knowing smile : 

“ You’ve in great glee now. Kora, but you’ll be in 
greater, by and by.” 

“ Why, how is that, Paul ?” 

“You haven’t heard the best news yet — that’s all !” 

What Kora would have replied in the pleasurable 
excitement of the moment it is hard to say, for her 
answer was prevented by the entrance of Andy 
Dwyer, with a “ God save all here !” 

“ Ha ! ha !” laughed Paul ; “ I think you’re a bit 
of a prophet, Andy. You talk as if we were all 
among ourselves again, with nobody to make game 
of us for the good old ways an’ words that came 
down to us from them that went afore us.” 

“Well ! I always speak so, Paul,” replied Andy, 
“ when I see that the coast is clear, and none of the 


EMIGRANT LIFE \N THE NEW WORLD. 207 

nncircunicised within hearing. God knows.” he add- 
ed, with a heavy sigh, “ there’s some of our own just 
as bad as any of them in regard to making fun of 
old usages that they ought to respect. Ah! Paul! 
Paul I they live among the Moabites and the Am- 
monites, till they get to be just like them.” 

“ Who did you say they’re among ?” said Paul, 
and Nora opened her eyes wide. 

“ Oh I forgot,” said Andy, with a grave smile, 
‘‘ that you were not quite so familiar with the Scrip- 
tures as some people are,” meaning himself, of course. 
So he went on with an air of grave condescension 
to explain who the Ammonites and Moabites were, 
and the relation in which they stood to the chosen 
people. The analogy was so plain that Paul under- 
stood it at once and cheerfully subscribed to its 
truth. 

“Well! Andy, you’ll be glad to hear that some 
of us are in a fair way of gettin’ our necks out of 
the halter; there’s a letter I got the day from a 
brother of mine that I haven’t seen or heard from 
this many a long year. Just sit over to the light 
here an’ read it out, for Nora hasn’t heard it yet.” 

With many expressions of satisfaction Andy 
opened the letter and read. The contents are 
already known in great part to the reader, and the 
concluding paragraphs ran as follows : “So now that 
I have told you all about my own affairs, let us have 
a word or two about yours. I suppose you have a 
family rising up by this time, and unless you’re in 


208 CON O^KEGAN ; OR, 

some very good business, the city is a poor enough 
place to live in. I know very well what it is, for, 
one way and another, Tve had a trial of town as 
well as country. Now I’ll tell you what I want 
you to do. Write to me as soon as possible, and 
let me know how you are situated, and if yourself 
and your wife would wish to come out here. If you 
are both willing, I’ll go at once and buy the loca- 
tion-ticket of a farm as near my own as I can get it, 
so that when you come here you’ll have nothing in 
the world to do but go to work at once and build a 
house — it needn’t be very large at first — and as my 
farm is pretty well cultivated now. I’ll be able, with 
God’s help, to give you a hand, myself and some 
boys from our own place that’s settled in the neigh- 
borhood. They all bid me say that they’ll do what 
they can to help you along and give you a start. 
Let me know if you have means enough to bring 
your wife and family out, and if not, why Judy and 
me have something by us in hard cash, that you 
can have the loan of for some years till you’re in a 
way of paying it back. As Judy often says to me : 
There’s only the two of us in it now, and it’s to- 
gether we ought to be, not you at one end of the 
world and me at the other, as a body might say. 
Judy and me haven’t got any family of our own, 
and, please God, we’ll help to do for yours. Wo 
want to know how many youngsters you have, what 
age they are, and all about them. If there’s any 
from the old sod living near you that may chance 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 209 

to remember poor Felix, (and a wild scamp 1 was, 
too, God knows !) give them my kind love, and tell 
them the best I can wish them is that they may find 
their way out here. This is the place, Paul, to 
make a good home for one’s family, where a man 
can be his own master, and not be driven about like 
black niggers from post to pillar, at the bidding of 
them that don’t care a traneen for one of us, but 
would see us far enough if the truth was known. 
And what’s your poor dollar a day, or dollar and a 
quarter? — what is it, Paul, to support a family 
where you have everything to buy except the light 
of heaven, that they can’t keep from you ? — and if 
sickness comes on you, or death, how is it to be 
then ? — who’s to do for the wife and children ? — and 
worse than all, the bad example that’s before your 
eyes and your children’s eyes, turn which way you 
will. Take my advice, Paul, and don’t stay in such 
a place, except you have a good way of doing, as I 
said before. If you have, why it would be foolish 
to give it up, for a bird in the hand, you know, is 
always worth two in the bush. 

“ At any rate, write soon, and let us know what 
you mean to do. Judy sends her kind love to you 
all, and hopes to see you here, young and old, before 
she’s many months older. 

“ So no more at present, but remains till death 
your loving and affectionate brother, 

“ Felix Berqen.” 


210 CON o'kegan j or, 

Then followed directions as to how the letter was 
to be addressed. 

During the reading of this episUe Nora Bergen 
sat with her clasped hands resting on her knees 
and her eyes fixed on the precious missive which 
bore such cheering words. By the time it was 
ended, from date to subscription, the tears were 
coursing down her cheeks, tears of joy and 
gladness. 

“ Now, Paul,” said she, ‘‘ wasn’t it true for Con 
O’Regan that we don’t any of us know what may 
be in store for us ? — oh I then, the Lord in Heaven 
be praised — haven’t we the great luck entirely ! — 
isn’t Felix the good brother all out — an’ his wife, 
too, not a bit behind himself — sure enough, but 
we’re in great luck !” 

“ Well, Andy !” said Paul, as Dwyer handed him 
back the letter, “ what do you think of that ?” 

“ What ca7i I think of it, Paul, only that you are 
one of the luckiest men that ever bore your name ! 
Wonderful, indeed, are the ways of God !” He was 
evidently pleased at the sudden change in Paul’s 
prospects, but still he could not help sighing as he 
said within himself : “ There’s nobody to send for 
me, or help me out of poverty 1— they’re low in the 
dust that would give me a helping hand. Well ! I 
suppose it’s all for the best— it must be, since God 
ordains it so !” 

“ Well! well!” said Paul, “how little notion I 
bad of any such chance when I was tellin’ Con the 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


211 


Other day that I wished I could go with him. Now, 
that same may come to pass, an’, indeed, it’s little 
short of a meracle. Weill now what about writin’ 
the letter ?” ~~ 

“ I’ll write it for you if you wish,” said Andy. 

“ I’m entirely obliged to you, Andy,” returned 
Paul, “ but I know poor Felix would be better 
pleased to see my own handwrite, such as it is. To 
be sure, I can’t either write or state* a letter like 
you, but still, it’s to my brother, you know, an’ he’ll 
not turn up his nose at what Til write, let it be 
ever so indifferent.” 

“Well! I believe you’re right,” said Andy, ris- 
ing; “ a scroll from your own pen will be worth 
gold in his eyes. God spare you to each other, and 
to the two decent women that own you !” 

“But sure you’re not goin’ yet?” said Nora; 
“ why, man, we have ever so many things to talk 
about.” 

i Just then there was a knock at the door, and 
Nora’s cordial “come in!” was answered by the 
appearance of Con O’Regan, muffled in a good 
! warm overcoat. Glancing from one to the other he 
i quickly perceived that there was joy in the house, 

' of some kind, and he was about to remark : “ Why 
you all seem very merry here 1” when he was anti- 
cipated by Patsey and Jane, who cried out in a 
breath : 

‘ Ob, Con ! sure we got a letter from my uncle 

* Compose, or indite. 


212 


CON o’regan ; OK, 

that was dead this long time, an’ he sent for father 
and mother an’ all of us to go to him. An’ it’s the 
same place that you’re goin to.” 

Con turned inquiringly to the seniors, and found 
on every face a confirmation of the wondrous tale.” 

Paul nodded assentingly, and Nora cried out in 
the excess of her joy : “ Praises be to God, it’s all 
true enough. Con! Ask Andy Dwyer! — he read 
the letter!” 

“ It’s all true, Cornelius,” said Andy, with his 
grave smile, “ except that Felix Bergen didn’t come 
to life again, as the children would lead you to sup- 
pose. There wasn’t a dead drop in him any day 
these fifteen years !” 

“Oh! then, bad cess to you, Andy,” said Nora, 
with a merry laugh, “ it’s you that’s never without 
your joke. Sit down now, both of you, till we have 
our talk out — you’ll not stir a step this hour, Andy !” 

“ Well! if I must, I must !” said Andy; “there’s 
no use contesting the point with one of the fair sex. 
And how is Winifred, Cornelius ?” 

Con hesitated for a moment. He was not accus- 
tomed to hear Winny’sname given in full, but a mo- 
ment’s thought recalled the fact that she had been 
so baptized, and he hastened to reply ; 

“ I haven’t seen her since she went to Miss Coul- 
ter’s, for somehow I don’t like to be troublin’ a 
strange house very often. She was well, though, 
when I saw her a week ago. But I want to hear all 
about this lucky letter, Paul ?” 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 213 

The letter was read over again for Con, to whom 
its contents were almost as welcome as they were 
to Paul and Nora. “ Nora, said he, “ we’ll be all 
together, please the Lord, for I’ll not go till you’re 
ready, and glad I am to have to wait for you.” 

“Well ! I’ll write to Felix, God willing, this very 
night,” said Paul, “ before I lay a side on a bed. 
Run out, Patsey, an’ get me a sheet of good letter 
paper — mind now an’ get it good, for it’s to send to 
your Uncle Felix.” 

Con and Andy now took their leave, the former 
being reminded by Mrs. Bergen to be sure and let 
Winny know all about the letter. 

“ Oh! ril do that, never fear! I intended to go 
to see her to-morrow evening, an’ I’ll be all the wel- 
comer with such news as this. Good night !” 

“ Good night, and God bless you!” said Nora, while 
Paul went with them to the top of the steps, telling 
them to take care of themselves, for the night was 
dark. “ An’ with all the lamps that there is,” he 
added, “ there’s many a dark hole an’ corner here an’ 
there where bad doings are carried on at all hours 
of the night. So mind yourselves now !” 

“ We will,” said Con, “ an’ thank you kindly for 
your advice, Paul, but it’s little use our minding 
would be if God did not mind us, too !” 

“True for you, Cornelius!” said Andy, as they 
walked away side by side; “the protection of God 
Is everything, and any one that looks for it in 
earnest has little to fear. It is written in the Holy 


214 CON o’regan ; os, 

Book : * He is our helper and our deliverer, whom 
shall we fear Y ” 

“ What a power of Scripture you have, Andy,'’ 
said Con, in a respectful tone; “it must have taken 
you a long time to lain all you know !” 

“Well, it did, Cornelius,” said Andy, with a 
smothered sigh ; “ it did take me a long time, sure 
enough — as long, I think, as it takes many a one to 
make a fortune. And what am I the better for it all 
now ? — if I knew less, I think my burden wouldn’t 
be so heavy as it is I — howsomever, it may all come 
in useful some day. God has His own wise ways of 
working, and He’ll do with us what He thinks best. 
Blessed be His name! But now, Cornelius!” he 
added, drawing nearer his companion, and lowering 
his voice, “ talking of learning brings something into 
my mind that troubles me a good deal, and often 
keeps me awake thinking when all the world’s asleep. 
I have a litle family growing up around me, and it’s 
no easy matter to get them schooled in a place like 
this, where there’s not a school that a Christian can 
send his child to! — it’s true I’m able enough to 
teach them myself, but a poor laboring man coming 
home after his day’s work has little heart for be- 
ginning to teach three or four children. Still, it’s a 
hard thing to send them to where they’re sure to 
learn more of evil than of good. If I could help it, 
no child of mine should ever set foot in one of them 
Common Schools.” 

“ And why, if you please, Andy ?” asked Con, in 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 215 

the same respectful tone. “What sort of schools 
are they ?” 

“ Why, they’re neither more nor less than infidel 
schools — heathen schools, Cornelius ! if you under- 
stand that better, where children are taught every- 
thing but religion. They may do well enough for 
Protestants of all sorts, but for Catholics they’re 
ruin, Cornelius! ruin and detruction. I’ve been 
here oflT and on now for some years, and I tell you 
Pve seen enough of sending Catholic children to 
those State Schools, as they call them, and for the 
matter of that, they might be called the Devil’s 
Schools, as far as Catholics are concerned. That’s 
God’s truth, Cornelius ! and I tell it to you as a seit 
Bible young man that knows the value of faith!” 

Andy had now reached his own door, and was 
about to raise the latch when Con said, “ What in 
the world is this, Andy ? — just wait a minute, for 
Gods sake I” 

“ Who are they ?” whispered Andy, as they ap- 
proached two men who were wrangling at a little 
distance. “ Why, one of them is Tom Derragh — 
sure enough it is — well! well ! isn’t he the graceless 
vagabond ?” 

“An’ the other is Larry Tierney!” said Con; 
“ don’t you think so, Andy V’ 

“AVell no! — but stay! — why, I declare to my 
goodness, it is just Larry Tierney, my next door 
neighbor. Oh then ! oh then ! isn’t this too bad — 
isn’t it, now ?” 


2 1 6 CON O^REGAN ; OR, 

As yet no blows had been struck on either sids 
BO that there was still a chance of preventing mis- 
chief, and while Con took Tom Derragh in charge, 
Andy applied himself to pacify Tierney. They had 
both worked themselves up to such a state of excite- 
ment that it was no easy task to keep them asunder. 

“ Let me at him I” shouted Tom, struggling to 
disengage himself from the sinewy grasp of Con ; 

“ he called me a lazy, idle vagabone, and by 

swearing an awful oath, “ I’ll pound him into mum- 
my ! — the low-lived, mean spirited dog ! — I don’t 
hang around the taverns as he does from nightfall 
to bed-time, lookin’ for a chance to guzzle down the 
drink at some fool’s expense! — let me at him, I say, 
or I’ll give it to you, too 1” 

“Just listen to me now!” said Con, soothingly; 
‘ come into Andy Dwyer’s here both of you till 
you cool down a little. You’ll be sorry for this 
when you’re sober I” 

“Sober I” hiccupped Tom; “who says I’m not 
sober now ! — keep a civil tongue in your head, Con 
O’Regan, or I’ll thrash you as I done many a time 
before.” 

Andy on his side had equally hard work to keep 
Tierney from flying at Tom, and there was every 
prospect of the watch being on the spot presently, 
for a crowd was beginning to gather. When all 
failed him. Con whispered in Tom’s ear : “ Take 
care, Tom, or I’ll go and tell Father Timlin I I’ll 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 211 

have him here in a minute if you don’t stop you* 
nonsense and come into the house I” 

Instead of quieting Derragh, this unfortunate threat 
only served to increase his rage. “ Father Timlin !” 
he cried, turning fiercely on Con, “and what if he 
were here now ? Let him mind his own business. 
He a’nt in Ireland now, I guess ! Ha ! Tierney, 
you dog ! I’m at you !” and Con being really some- 
what exhausted by his previous exertions, could 
not have held him much longer, but just then a 
lucky thought came into his mind, and he whis- 
pered again in Derragh’s ear : 

“ And- Peggy ! — what will she say when she hears 
of this, and that you’re in the station-house all night 
to-night, as you will be in two minutes, for there’s 
the watch coming. For God’s sake come in before 
you’re taken !” 

The mention of Peggy’s name had a magical effect 
on the besotted brain of Derragh. In an instant he 
calmed down, saying 

“ You’re right, Con ! — what would she say, poor 
unfortunate girl? I’ll go anywhere you like. Coni 
I will, indeed! Let that drunken scoundrel go to 
the devil if he likes ! — I wouldn’t dirty my fingers 
with him !” 

Fortunately this was said in a low voice, so that 
it did not reach the ears of the person so courte- 
ously apostrophized, and Andy, who had also seen 
the watch coming, just then opened Tierney’s door 
and pushed him in, he struggling and vowing ven- 


218 


CON o’kegan ; OR, 

geance all the lime, then went in after him and 
closed the door. At the same moment Con got his 
game safely bagged in Andy Dwyer’s comfortable 
kitchen, to the great surprise of the good dame who 
was quietly sewing at a table near the window. 
Her children were all in bed, and she had been just 
beguiling the time with the loves of Lord Lovell 
and Lady Bancy Nell, as commemorated in an an- 
cient and time-honored ballad learned in early child- 
hood from well-beloved lips, long mouldering into 
dust. Many a sadly-pleasing memory arose before 
the placid mind of the singer connected with the 
words of the quaint, old ditty, and so she sat sing- 
ing and sewing, and thinking and sighing, all in the 
quietest of ways, when the door was flung open, and 
in bounced Con with his tamed mastiff, the latter 
looking deplorably stupid, and not a little sullen. 

“Goodness me!” said Mrs. Dwyer, getting over 
her fright somewhat, as she recognized Con, who 
had been there once before. “ Goodness me I but 
you most frightened the life in me. Sit down, Con ! 
— and who’s this ? — why, Tom Derragh, I declare ! 
Andy’s not in now, but I expect him every minute. 
It’s newens for him, indeed, to be out so late.” 

This broad hint rather disconcerted Con ; how- 
ever, he resolved to leave all explanation for Andy 
himself, at a more fitting time, and muttered some- 
thing about passing that way, and meeting with Tom 
Derragh at the door, and asked him in to see ho'vV 
they all were. 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 219 

“Much obliged to you!” said Mrs. Dwyer, in a 
very dry tone, as though she would have said : “ I 
wish you had taken a more seasonable time for your 
visit.” 

Con felt himself in a very awkward position, and 
as for Tom he sat looking at the opposite wall with 
a vacant stare. He was evidently growing more 
and more stupid, under the influence of the heat. 
How and then a few half-uttered words were heard 
coming from his throat with a hoarse guttural sound. 

“I know very well, Mrs. Dwyer,” said Con, in a 
low voice, “I know very well that you think it 
strange to see me in such company, but Mr. Dwyer 
will tell you how it all happened. Indeed, it’s not 
my fault at all.” 

“Well! I am glad to hear that, anyhow,” said 
Mrs. Dwyer, in the same under tone, “for I was 
afeard you were takin’ up with bad company, an’ 
that’s the ruination of many a one. Con. But 
what could I think seein’ you boultin’ in on me at 
this hour of the night with such a companion as 
that? You know the old sayin’ that there is where 
we both came from : ‘ Show me the company you 
keep and I’ll tell you the sort of a person you are ?’ 
Oh dear me. Con, isn’t that the sorrowful sight to 
see?” pointing to Tom, who was now fast asleep 
and snoring away for dear life, his head hanging on 
his chest ; isn’t it as good as a sermon to look at 
that man, young an’ strong, an’ a clean likely fellow, 
too, if he’d only keep himself as he ought I Och ! 


220 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


och ! but it’s little business the likes of him has 
cornin’ to America, for dear knows, Con, it takes 
hard, close savin’ an’ the best of good conduct to 
bring people through in it. Bub here’s Andy 
cornin’, I think.” 

The door opened and Dwyer entered, casting an 
anxious glance around to see that there was no dis- 
turbance. All was quiet, however, and the worthy 
man breathed more freely, for he hated quarrelling, 
he used to say, as he hated the devil, the Lord par- 
don him for mentioning his name. With a heavy 
sigh and a sorrowful shake of the head he passed 
the unconscious Derragh and took his seat by Con, 
whose hand he warmly skook. “ Well, Cornelius,” 
said he, “ I’m stlre you’re as well pleased as I am 
that we had the good luck to come up when we did. 
If we hadn’t, there would have been another dis- 
graceful scene in the Police Court to-morrow, atid 
these two poor witless creatures would have been 
either fined or clapped into jail for a start.” 

Mrs. D wyer expressed her desire to know what 
had happened, and when she had heard all, she, reach 
ed her hand to Con with a benevolent smile saying . 

“ I hope you will forgive me for the wrong I done 
you in my own mind when you first came in !” 

Con assured her that there was no need of any 
apology, as her suspicions were quite natural. It 
was then arranged that a bed should be made on 
the fioor for Tom, who was not in a condition to go 
out, and Con bade his kind friends “good night.” 


MIGRANT LIJB IN THE NEW WORLD. 


221 


CHAPTER XIII. 

About seven o’clock on the following evening Con 
O’Regan was at Miss Coulter’s door, and his modest 
summons was answered by Letty, who, on seeing 
him by the light of the hall-lamp, exclaimed : 

“ Ah ! I guess your VYinny’s brother, a’nt you ?” 

Con having answered in the affirmative was shown 
down stairs, where he found his sister hard at work 
finishing some article of under clothing for one of 
the ladies. Winny was a little cool at first, saying, 
in her quiet way : 

“ Ah, then, it’s a wonder you came at all I — why 
didn’t you stay a little longer ?” 

“Indeed, then, Winny, I’d have been here sooner— 
you know very well it wasn’t my heart that hindered 
me, only I was a little timorous in regard of givin 
trouble.” 

Winny smiled and was about to answer, but Letty 
took the word out of her mouth, as she said herself 

“ Never you mind that, Mister O’Regan—'” 

“ Con^ if you please.” 

“Well, then. Con, if that’s what they call you— . 
you may come to see Winny as often as you’ve a 


222 


CON O^RKGAN ; OR, 


mind to. The ladies han’t any objection to your 
coming at any time. And now I think of it, they 
want to speak to you before you leave. I guess it’s 
about that ’ere loan that you’re to have, but, of 
course, I don’t know. I never want to know any- , 
thing about other folks’ business.” 

Con looked at Winny and Winny smiled, but 
neither made any reply, so Letty resumed her iron- ^ 
ing, and left the brother and sister to “ have their 
talk.” Having chatted over their own affairs for a • 
little while, Con suddenly exclaimed : “ Why, then, 
what sort of a memory have I at aU — sure I was for- 
gettin’ all about the Bergens.” 

“ Why, what about them, Con ?” asked Winny, in 
visible trepidation. 

“ Oh! nothing but what you’ll be glad to hear.” 
He then proceeded to relate Paul’s good luck of the 
previous day, which rejoiced Winny exceedingly, 
and they were both so intent on the pleasing theme, 
discussing it in every possible way, that they lost 
sight of Letty, who was not, it appeared, quite so ob- 
livious of thdr presence — she had laid down her iron 
during Con’s narrative, and broke in suddenly at the 
end with : 

“Well now I if that a’nt what I call handsome !” 

“ What ?” was the simultaneous question of bro- 
ther and sister. 

“ Why, that ’ere man’s doing so well for his bro- 
ther, and he such an idle, drinking, good-for-notl ing 
feller.” 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


223 


“ Who are you talkin’ of, Letty ?” said Winny; 
quickly. 

“ Why, of that Paul Bergen as got the letter.” 

“Well! I didn’t think you knew him,” observed 
Winny, with a sly glance at her brother, “ but, at 
any rate, he’s not the man you take him for. He 
used to take a drop too much now and then, but 
that’s all past away. For the last three or four 
months he hasn’t tasted anything of the kind to my 
knowledge.” 

“ Oh 1 of course I don’t know anything about the 
man only as I heard Peggy Daly say. If he’s sober 
now, why all the better; it’s nothing to me, you 
know 1” 

“ So, I suppose. Con, you’ll be all going together 
in the spring — and that’s not far off now,” added 
Winny, with a heavy sigh. “ Maybe there might be 
some more going, too.” 

“Well! I don’t know as to that,” said Con, “but 
I wish there may. Father Timlin 'says if there was a 
few of us going together it ’id be so much the better, 
I wonder,” and he lowered his voice almost to a 
whisper, “ I wonder when will the old ladies advance 
the money ? I’m told there are some little things 
that I had best take from here.” 

The ironing was again suspended. Letty’s quick 
ear caught the tenor of the discourse, if not the pre- 
cise words. “ Oh ! as to that,” said she, “ you can 
have the money whenever you want to. But han’t 
you got any of your own ? — why I la me ! you ought 


224 CON o’regan ; or, 

to have — how, on earth, can yon spend all yon 
earn ?” 

This startling question brought the blood to Con's 
cheek, and he again looked at Winny, who hastened 
to reply : “ My brother has a little of his own, Letty, 
an’ he might have more only for my long sickness. 
He left himself bare then.” 

*‘How, I declare, Winny, it’s a shame for you to 
talk that way,” said Con, almost angrily. “Don’t 
you know very well that I was only payin’ you back 
a little of what you sent us home ever so many 
times.” 

“Well! well! nevermind,” said his sister, laugh- 
ing, “just keep your temper an’ your seat a little 
longer,” for he had jumped to his feet. “Weren’t 
you sayin’ something awhile agone about Tom Der- 
ragh ?” 

“ Tom Derragh 1” repeated Letty, taking up the 
word; “ why, that’s Peggy’s Tom, a’nt he ? — a regu- 
lar scapegrace that feller is, and I can’t make out 
why Peggy holds on to him so ! — ^lias anything hap 
pened to him ?” 

Con evaded the question as best he might, observ- 
ing that he was not much acquainted with the young 
man, and knew very little about him. Winny took 
the hint, and made no further inquiries on the sub- 
ject. Con then reminded Letty that the ladies 
wanted to see him, and bidding Winny a kind “ good 
night,” was speedily ushered into the dining-room 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


225 


1 abo^e, Winny calling out to him as he ascended the 
stairs in Letty’s wake : 

“Tell Mrs. Bergen I’ll be down to see her on 
Sunday afternoon.” 

“ I will,” said Con, “ and mind you don’t forget, 
for I’ll be there, too.” 

He had now reached the dining-room door, where 
he paused to smooth down his hair and give his 
shoes an extra wipe, which he did with some hesita- 
. tion and more reluctance, owing to the beauty, of 
the soft, downy mat. 

I “ Good evening. Con !” said Miss Coulter, and 
“good evening. Con!” said Miss Debby, as they 
raised their eyes from the chess-board before them, 
to fix a smiling look on Winny’s brother and “ Sam- 
I my’s” favorite protege. Con answered only with a 
very low bow, which he tried hard to make as re- 
spectful as possible. 

“ Well, Con I” said the elder lady, “ my sister and 
I are glad to see you. You must come often to see 
Winny. She is a very good girl — very good indeed. 
Mrs. Coulter did not know her value. But we do, 
and so does Letty.” 

“Yes, that I do,” said the person mentioned, an- 
swering from behind Con, to the great surprise of 
the latter, who thought she had returned to the 
kitchen. But no such thing, she had discovered 
something out of its place, and, of course, there was 
no time like the present for putting it to rights. 

“ Yes, that I do,” repeated Letty ; “ Winny a’nt 


226 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

one bit like wbat folks say of the Irish. She’s a real 
nice, tidy girl, and gives no more trouble in the 
house since she’s bin here than a child. I like Winny, 
I do, and I a’nt pleased with Mrs. Coulter for treat- 
ing her so ! — I a’nt 1” 

Letty spoke as a privileged servant, well know- 
ing with whom she had to deal, and though the la- 
dies administered a faint rebuke in the form of a 
“ fie 1 fie ! Letty ! — don’t speak so, child !” the smile 
which accompanied the words belied their import. 
So Letty nodded, and said, “ I a’nt saying but what’s 
true,” and went on with her dusting and arranging 
at the sideboard. 

“ But what about the money. Con ?” said Miss 
Coulter, kindly ; “ a’nt you beginning to think of 
going yet ?” 

“ Not for a month or so. Miss !” said Con, but 
I’m gettin’ my clothes an* things in readiness.” 

“Is there any prospect of your having company 
on the way ?” 

“ Why, my stars, yes !” said Letty, before Con 
could get out a word. “ There’s Paul something — 
Paul — Paul Berrington — a great friend of Con’s and 
Winny’s. He’s just got a letter from his brother 
out in Iowa to go there right off, so he’ll be with 
Con all the way. A sober man he is, too, though 
he wasn’t always so. My sakes ! it’s a first-rate 
chance for Con — a’nt it ?” 

“ I am very glad to hear it,” said each sister in 
turn, “ and so will Sammy be, too.” 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


227 


“ I haven’t seen Mr. Coulter yet, Miss, to tell him, 
but I know he’ll he well pleased, for he was sayin’ 
to me the other day that he hoped there would be 
some others goin’, because it ’id be a lonesome thing 
to go such a long ways by one’s self.” 

“ Well, Con, you can have the. loan we promised 
you at any lime. Brother and you can arrange all 
about the payment. Would you wish to have it to- 
morrow or next day ?” 

‘‘ Oh no ! Miss,” said Con, hastily, “ not so soon, 
if you please ! I’d be frettin’ the life out of me, if I 
had it, for fear of anything happenin’ it, an’ then I’d 
be done for entirely. I have enough, thank God, to 
get what little things I want, an’ I’ll not trouble you 
till I’m just ready to go.” 

“ Very good, Con ! I see you are prudent, as well 
as faithful. Well! that was all we had to say, so 
you can go now !” 

“ And mind you come often to see Winny !” 
added Miss Debby, as she began to arrange the 
board for another game. 

“ Ohl there’s no fear of me forgettin’ that, ladies, 
when you’re so good as to give me leave. May the 
Lord bless you, both now and for ever !” 

“ Letty ! show Con to the door, will you ?” said 
the elder sister; then, as they prepared to commence 
their game, she added in a dreamy, musing tone, 
“ what a singular way these Irish have of blessing 
one at every turn ! — a’nt it queer ?” 

“ Well, it is,” returned Debby, “ but it comes from 


228 


CON o’rEGAN ; OR, 


their goodness of heart, I dare say. They mean 
•well, you know, and we must overlook any little 
error of judgment when the heart is all right. Dear 
Mr. Shillingworth will have it that this practice of 
the Irish is a most profane one, but, oh, dear ! I 
can’t think so ! They always mention the name of 
God with respect, and so I can’t see how they pro- 
fane it by praying Him to bless folks. The custom 
may be idle and profitless, Dolly, but it cannot be 
profane !” 

Having reached this sage conclusion, Miss Debby 
dismissed the subject from her thoughts and applied 
herself heart and soul to the game. As for Letty, 
she made all haste down to the kitchen, to un- 
burthen her busy, restless mind. Her good will 
towards Winny was not confined to mere idle talk, 
although that was never wanting. Letty’s heart 
Avas a good one, as times go. 

“ So your brother will be starting in about a 
month,” said she, “ and I guess he’ll need some 
things made, won’t he ? — well. I’ve just bin a think- 
ing that you can make anything he wants in the 
way of shirts, or the like, after hours. Miss Coulter 
never wants you to work, you know, after seven, or 
thereabouts. So, jest git the cotton and things to- 
morrow, and I’ll be real glad to give you a hand 
evenings when I’ve my work done up.^’ 

“ God bless you, Letty!” said Winny, fervently, 
“ I’m sure I can never forget your kindness, and I’ll 
pray for you the longest day I have to live, for 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


229 


you’ve been all as one as a sister to me ever since I 
came here !” 

“Well! I must say I’ll be right glad to have you 
remember me,” and Letty laughed merrily, “but as 
for that ’ere praying, I kinder think it a’nt much 
use, so you needn’t trouble yourself praying for me. 
I guess you’ve got enough to pray for already.” 

“ Oh ! Letty, Letty I don’t talk that way ! — don’t 
now, Letty, for it grieves my heart to hear you, an’ 
you so good an’ kind to me 1” 

Letty only laughed again, but she was not insen- 
sible to Winny’s evident distress, so she hastened 
to soothe her with: “Well! I won’t then, if you 
feel so dreadful bad about it. But, my sakes ! 
where’s the use of a body making believe ? I don’t 
think your prayers, or any other one’s prayers can 
do me any good — the Lord will give me just what 
He has a mind to, whether you ask Him or not. 
That’s my notion, you see, and there a’nt any good 
that I can see in my telling you a different story. 
!How, a’nt that true ?” 

“ Well ! I suppose so,” said Winny, in a dejected 
tone ; then she added within herself, “ there’s no 
use strugglin’ against the stream. God pity her, 
poor creature ! she’s as blind as a bat !” 

A few minutes and the whole was forgotten by 
Letty, who took up her sewing and commenced 
humming a popular negro melody, with the air of 
one who had not a care or sorrow in the world. 
Her fresh Milesian face was seldom darkened by a 


230 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

cloud, and as she sat there carolling her inspiring 
lay, it seemed happier and more joyous even than 
its wont. Winny sighed as she looked, for Letty’s 
happiness was that of the good-natured, upright 
heathen, well pleased with self and with all the 
world, a fact which was plainly discernible to the 
eye of faith. 

On the following evening when Paul Bergen came 
home from his work, he found his little household 
all in confusion, and Nora met him at the door with 
a half-crazed look and manner. “Run off down the 
street, Paul !” she cried, “ an see if you’ll see 
Patsey !” 

“ Patsey ! why, isn’t he here ?” 

“No, nor wasn’t since he went to school in the 
afternoon. Oh ! God help us ! God help us !” she 
cried, wringing her hands, and bursting into tears, 
“ maybe it’s brought home to us like Peter he'll be.” 

Paul waited to hear no more. With the dread 
experience of the past before him, he had reason to 
fear tbe very worst, and he ran, like a madman, to 
Andy Dwyer’s hoping that Patsey might be there. 
But istead of that he found Mrs. Dwyer nearly as 
wild as Nora, for her eldest boy was missing, too. 

“ Lord save us I” cried Paul, “ where can they be ? 
— still an’ all, Mrs. Dwyer, my mind’s a little easier 
now, for as sure as anything, they’re together, wher- 
ever they are, I suppose Andy’s not home yet ?’ 

“No, ljut I expect him every minnrt. But go, 
for God's sake ! — there’s no time to be lost !” 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


231 


Paul had no intention to wait, and he turned away 
to commence his vague search, not knowing where 
to go or what to do. Had he but the slightest clue 
to lead him on, he would have followed to the death, 
but to begin to seek two missing urchins in a city 
like that, was literally a hopeless task. 

“ I might as well look for a needle in a bundle of 
straw !” said Paul ; “ but still I must do something. 
God direct me where to go !” So, taking heart of 
grace, he went in turn to the dwelling of each of his 
acquaintances within a circuit of several streets, but 
no Patsey was to be found. Sick at heart, faint 
from long fasting after the hard labor of the after- 
noon, and almost despairing of ever finding his boy 
alive, he at length turned his steps homeward, and 
reached his own door almost exhausted. All at 
once he stopped he heard his wife’s voice speaking 
in a loud, excited tone, and the terrible thought 
struck him that Patsey had been brought home — 
perhaps a corpse. That’s it,” said he ; “ he’s either 
killed or badly hurt, an’ the poor heart-broken 
woman’s gone crazed.” His heart sank within him 
and he leaned against the door for support. 

Well ! I suppose I may as well go in at any rate !” 
and he went in accordingly, much quicker, too, than 
he intended, for the door having been but partially 
fastened, gave way before the pressure of his weight, 
and he would have gone in head foremost had not 
his fall been broken by the goodly bulk of Andy 
Dwyer, who fortunately stood near the door at that 


232 


CON o’kegan ; OR, 

particular moment. Paul’s apology was cut short by 
t je welcome apparition of Patsey, who sat munching 
a huge slice of bread and butter at the opposite side 
of the room. 

‘‘ The Lord be praised !” was Paul's first exclama- 
tion; “so he’s alive an’ well after all.” And the 
poor man sinking into a seat, was unable to utter 
another word. His eyes wandered from Patsey to 
Hora, who stood brandishing a rod in front of the 
young culprit, the latter regarding her and it with 
infinite coolness and self-possession. Andy Dwyer 
heaved a deep sigh just at Paul’s elbow. 

“Ah ! Paul, Paul !” said he, “ this is a bad busi- 
ness 1” 

“ What is ?” demanded Paul ; “ sure it isn’t as bad 
as we expected, after all.” 

“Isn’t it, indeed?” cried Nora, turning almost 
fiercely on her husband ; “ an’ what do you think 
of that young vagabond there squaring himself at 
me when I took the rod to whip him ? I was so 
glad to see him at first that I run an’ give him a 
piece of bread, the young rascal ! but when I began 
to question him about where he was, an’ couldn’t 
get any satisfaction from him, I took down the rod, 
an’ threatened to give him a good floggin’ if he didn’t 
tell me what he was about all the afternoon. But 
sure it’s what he began to laugh at me, an’ made a 
motion as if he’d strike me. Andy Dwyer there 
can tell you that as well as I can.” 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


233 


Andy was silent, but be shook bis bead and 
heaved another sigh still deeper than the first. 

“ Very good !” said Paul, nodding at Patsey, who 
began, by this time, to look rather blank; “very 
good, my lad ! — I’ll settle with you, by and by ! I’ll 
give you such a thrashin’ that you’ll mind it the 
longest day you have to live — I’ll go bail for it 
you’ll never turn hand or tongue on your mother 
for the time to come ! — make haste an’ finish that 
bread you’re eatin’.” 

Patsey began to blubber, and somehow instead of 
making haste to swallow the last of the bread, the 
masticatory process went on slower than ever. It 
was obstructed, too, of course accidentally, by divei's 
convulsive motions in the throat, as though Patsey’s 
breath was growing very short indeed. Ever and 
anon he cast a furtive glance on his father, who had 
now taken possession of the rod. Andy turned 
away to hide a smile. 

“ Make haste, I tell you !” repeated Paul ; “ but, 
that’s true, Nora,” turning to his wife, “did the 
young rap tell you where he was?” 

“Not a word I could get out of him,” saV. the 
poor mother. “ I tell you again it’s what he yxagh- 
ed at me.” 

“Was your boy with him, Andy?” den’.ia.^ad 
Paul. 

“Yes, yes, the fellow walked in to us just bis 
mother was telling me in a great fright abo-/, him 
being away. I had a good deal of trouble get 


234 


CON o’regan ; OR. 


out of him where they were, but at last I made him 
tell. It seems they were part of the time playing 
with some other boys about the streets, but at last 
they got into a beer-cellar down here in Elm street, 
where there was a couple of darkies boxing for a 
wager, and, of course^ nothing would serve my lads 
but they must wait to see the battle decided. But 
I think I gave Terence what will fix the beer-cellar 
and the darkies on his mind. If he ever forgets it, 
I’ll be out in my reckoning, that’s all.” 

“ And, so that’s where they were,” said Paul, 
‘‘ while I was runnin’ here and there, from post to 
pillar, in search of them, till I was just ready to 
drop with the weakness an’ the fear that was on me. 
So it was lookin’ at two darkies boxiu’ you were, 
my lad ” 

“ Yes, father,” said Patsey, brightening up at the 
recollection, “ and I guess you’d like to have seen 
it yourself if you had the chance. Don’t you mind 
when you and Tom Derragh and all the rest used to 
be talking about how well you could box ? — well I 
guess you never seed a handsomer spell than that 
was ! I tell you the darkies pitched into each other 
first rate.” 

“Now, Paul!” cried Nora, “just listen to that 
vagabone I — I’m blest an’ happy if he wasn’t imita- 
tin’ the darkies when he squared an’ shook his fists 
at me a while ago.” 

“ No, I wan’t, mother,” said the young scape- 
grace, stoutly, “ for it a’nt manly, folks say, to strike 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


235 


ft woman But you hadn’t ought to call them ’ere 
tigly names. I can’t stand that, no how !” 

“ Can’t you, Indeed ?” said his father. “ Can you 
stand this, then ? and this ? and this ?” And suit- 
ing the action to the word, he administered an extra 
dose of the rod, applying it in a most effective man- 
ner to a certain fleshy part of Patsey’s little body, 
hared expressly for the occasion. If piteous cries 
and promises of amendment could have stayed the 
avenging arm, the punishment would have been 
light indeed, but Paul leant a deaf ear to both, nor 
stopped till he had given Patsey what he considered 
his due. Neither Nora nor Andy interfered, both 
being well satisfied that he “ deserved all he got,” 
but Jane and Jim were vociferous in their petitions 
for mercy, and promises that he’d “ never do it 
again.” “ Oh father ! father ! let him go now — he’ll 
never, never do it again ! — sure you won’t, Patsey ? 
Oh ! mother ! mother ! won’t you save him ?” 

“ No, no, children ! — I can’t ! — my heart aches to 
see him gettin’ such a heatin’, but it’s good for him, 
Jane dear ! — it’s good for him ! — he’d go to the devil 
entirely, or be killed on us some day like poor Peter 
if we let him go on any longer I” 

At length, when Patsey was released with an in- 
junction from his father to “ be sure an’ run away 
again for an afternoon, an’ get into a beer-cellar with 
the dai’kies,” Jane and Jim followed their brother 
into the corner where he hid himself. Jane put her 
arm round his neck, and Jim took hold of his hand, 


.236 


CON o’regan j or, 


crying all the time aa though he had had his shara 
of the correction. But Patsey was sullen and would 
not be comforted. To every kind, consoling word 
of Jane’s, he only answered: “Kever mind — when 
I’m a man they shan’t use me so 1 — I’ll go where I 
like, and do just as I’ve a mind to.” 

“ Oh, Patsey 1” whispered Jane, m terrified ac- 
cents, “don’t talk so — father will hear you !” 

“ I don’t care if he do, Jane ! — he needn’t have 
used me so ! — it a’nt any wonder that folks talk so 
of Irish Paddies ! — ^they’re real mean !” 

Meanwhile, Paul and his wife were discussing in 
a low voice with Andy Dwyer the pernicious in- 
fluence of bad example, as exemplified in the case 
before them. Paul and Nora were filled with grati- 
tude for the great mercy of God in their regard, im 
asmuch as they were about to escape with their chil- 
dren from the polluted thoroughfares of the city, 
while Andy bemoaned the hard fate which chained 
him to the spot. 

“ However,” said he, rising and taking his hat, 
“ we must only do the best we can, and leave the 
rest to God. I suppose He’ll make it all right in the 
end if we only do our duty wherever He places ns. 
Patrick I” said he, addressing the dark-browed boy, 
“I hope this will be a useful lesson to you all your 
life, and that your father will never have to punish 
you so again. What could induce you to do such a 
thing ?” 

“ Why, you see, Terry and me ” 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 23T 

“Terence, if you please, Patrick !” 

“ Well! you see, Terence and me and Job JEaston 
and Bill Black were all playing marbles on the side- 
walk, just along by that ’ere cellar-door, and we saw 
all the folks a-running in, and we ran like the rest to 
see what it was. And when we saw the darkies 
stripped, jest a-going to fight, says Terry to me, 
sa}s he: ‘Patsey, I guess we’ll see it out.’ And 
says I, ‘ all right,’ so we staid till the fight was over, 
and that’s all. I’m sure it wan’t any great harm 1” 

“ ITot a word, now I” said his father, angrily; “not 
a word, or 111 give you another touch of the rod. 
Ill show you it loas harm, and great harm, too ! — *go 
oflT to your bed, this minnit, and, Jane, see that he 
says his prayers. Make him say them out loud so 
that you ll be sure.” 

“Well, now, Andy 1” said Mrs. Bergen, “aren’t 
you in a great hurry ? Can’t you sit awhile, now 
that we’ve got a little peace ?” 

“ Oh, no ! I must be going, Mrs. Bergen. Poor 
Alice gets lonesome when I’m out too long. I tell 
you, Paul 1” he added, lowering his voice to a whis- 
per, “ you have need to look after that same boy of 
yours. If you don’t, mind my words, you’ll have 
trouble with him I Don’t take it ill of me to say so, 
either of you, but you know I’m rearing a family 
myself and I’d be thankful to any one that would 
tell me of their faults before it was too late.” 

“ And we are thankful to you, Andy,” said Paul, 
in the same tone, while Nora began to rock herself 


238 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

to and fro, as was usual with her in any fresh ac- 
cession of sorrow ; “ we are thankful to you, Andy, 
for your good advice. Do you know I often thought 
the same myself, for there seems to be something 
very dark and very rough in Patsey above all the 
rest. Howsomever, if we only had him away from 
here we might get along better with him.” 

“That’s my notion, too,” said Andy, “but now I 
must wish you good night.” 

“ Good night, Andy, an’ safe home to you !” 



IMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


239 


CHAPTER XIV. 

For the first few weeks after Winny’s departure, 
Mr. Coulter had a hard time of it. What with 
Winny’s supposed ill-conduct and the shelter af- 
forded her by the Misses Coulter, which was done 
through pure spite, as she alleged, — “ for nothing in 
the world but to annoy Aer,” — Mrs. Coulter had ac- 
quired a fresh supply of ammunition wherewith she 
kept up a running fire on her husband as often as he 
placed himself within gunshot of her, which, to say 
the truth, was as seldom as possible. Now, it was 
nothing but the meanness and rascality of the Irish, 
the singular taste that some people had for having 
them about them ; again, it was the mean spiteful- 
ness of old maids, who had nothing better to do 
than teazing and annoying their neighbors. As a 
general thing Mr. Coulter would listen in silence, 
answering only by an occasional “ Humph,” or “Do 
tell. Prudence !” or some such exclamation ; but 
once or twice he was so nettled by the contemptu- 
ous allusion to his sisters that he could not keep 
silence. 


CON o’kegan ; OR, 


24a 

* Why, Prudence ! my dear, you needn’t turn up 
your nose so at old maids I I know somebody and 
BO do you, too, that was very near being one herself 
— so near, indeed, that a year or two would have 
raised her to the dignity of the upper shelf, where 
she might have withered all her life ‘ on the virgin 
thorn,’ if it hadn’t been for somebody else that came 
along just in time. If my sisters are old maids, they 
wear their age respectably, so let me hear no more 
on that subject.” 

There was a singular energy and determination 
about Mr. Coulter on such occasions that his wife 
never dared to brave, so she was fain to suspend 
operations for a more favorable opportunity, and fall 
back upon a dignified silence. 

But the attack was sure to be renewed very soon 
again, and Mr. Coulter, sick and tired of the ever- 
lasting topic, determined to make a bold effort on 
behalf of Winny’s reputation, and to fathom the 
secret of the allegations brought against her, if mor- 
tal man could do it. Lest the reader might be dis- 
posed to give the old gentleman too much credit, we 
must admit that his desire to get rid of the unceas- 
ing taunts and insinuations of his wife had at least 
as much to do in his praiseworthy resolution, as his 
strict sense of justice, strengthened as it was by 
gratitude. 

“ If I can only get that old man off my back,” said 
he, as he took a neatly-folded paper from his escru- 
toire, ni bo as happy as ever Sinbad was to get 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


241 


rid of his burden. ITow, Dr. Richards I my man, 
now comes the tug of war! I’ll just step over to 
his office to pay him this bill which he sent me a 
couple of days ago, and I’ll see if I can’t get some- 
thing out of him that may serve me against Pru- 
dence.” 

So bustling along in his quick, business-like way, 
he stepped into Dr. Richards’ elegantly furnished 
office, where he happily found the doctor alone. 
The compliments of the morning being interchanged, 
the doctor laid down the daily paper which he had 
been “just glancing OA^er,” he said, on Mr. Coulter’s 
taking out his pocket-book and handing over the 
bill to be receipted. 

“ There’s the amount, doctor ; I believe you’ll f nd 
it correct.” 

“ Quite so, Mr. Coulter,” pocketing the roil of 
bills ; “ I’m much obliged to you.” 

“Not at all, doctor; not at all. I owe you more 
than money can pay for having restored my little 
Rachel to life when I thought her almost gone. 
Between you and Winny, you made a good job of 
it.” 

“ Ah yes ! — Winny I” repeated the doctor ; “ W'in- 
ny is a good nurse, Mr. Coulter — a very good nur^e, 
indeed. She could make a very good living out of 
that very thing, and I offered to recommend ner to 
my patients, but she wouldn’t hear of it, sir — wouldn’t 
hear of it, at all. Strange enough, wasn’t it ?” 

“ Why, doctor,” said Mr. Coulter, “ I’m only sur- 


242 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

prised at your making her such an offer — you that 
knew so much about her.” 

“ Who — I ?” said the doctor, in a startled tone ; 
“ I assure you, Mr. Coulter, I know nothing about 
the girl one way or the other, except what I saw of 
her in your house. Who said I did ?” 

“ Why, my wife, Mrs. Prudence Coulter, did,” re- 
turned the humorous old gentleman, with the cool- 
est composure. She made very serious allegations 
against poor Winny, and referred me* to you as her 
authority. I have been very busy ever since, and 
the affair, I knew, could wait, so I gave myself no 
further trouble about it at the time; but now that 
I have a quiet opportunity of talking to you in pri- 
vate, I would thank you, doctor, to let me know 
exactly what you have to say against Winny.” 

At this the doctor winced a good deal, and his 
bold, glittering eye sank before the keen glance of 
his interrogator. A very faint blush, or something 
like it, mounted to his cheek, and he could only re- 
peat in a dogged tone : 

Why, I have already told you, Mr. Coulter, that 
I have nothing to say to the girl. What should 1 
know about such people unless they come before me 
in the way of business, and I assure you that is as 
seldom as I possibly can. It is my interest, sir, to 
keep clear of the Irish lest my practice should suffer 
if I were known to go much amongst them.” 

“ Ahem !” said Mr. Coulter ; “ that is all very dig- 
nified, doctor, and very becoming in a fashionable 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 243 

physician, but it does not answer my question. 
What has Winny O’Regan done to you that you en- 
deavor to blacken her character ? — Endeavor^ I say, 
doctor — mark the word ! for I tell you there is no 
chance of your succeeding. Winny’s character is 
beyond suspicion.” 

Here the doctor started to his feet and clenched 
his fist as though he would have struck the old gen- 
tleman who sat looking at him with such a provok- 
ing smile. “ What has she done to me?” he cried, 
“ the termagant, the vixen ! what could she do to 
me ? — no doubt she has been telling a plausible story 
about — about — pshaw! what a fool I am?” he add- 
ed, pettishly, as he pushed his chair from him. 

“ Keep your seat, my dear sir 1” said the provok- 
ingly calm Mr. Coulter; “I am not going just yet, 
though I hope I shall soon. Sit down, doctor, and 
let us talk the matter over in a quiet, friendly 
way. Now, you know, my dear sir, Winny is a 
very good-looking girl, and it is no great wonder if 
a fine rollicking young fellow like you should have 
been casting a stray glance that way now and then, 
in the tempting privacy of the sick-room. Don’t 
blush, doctor, we are all of us mortal, and have little 
tender instincts planted within us, doubtless for a 
wise purpose. Now I see as plainly as can be that 
you and Winny had a little tilf— excuse the word, 
doctor, and, in the heat of the moment, you went and 
told Mrs. Coulter what you were sorry for when 
you cooled down. Now, doctor, don’t you think I 


244 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

can guess as well as any one if I only try,. You 
have just been making some little experiments on 
Winny’s virtue 

“ And so have you, at one time or another, I’ll be 
sworn, my old chap !” said the doctor, losing his ha- 
bitual caution. 

“ I deny it, sir,” said Mr. Coulter, firmly and 
coldly, and he, too, stood up; “I was never addict 
ed to such pursuits, and if I had been, Winny 
O’Regan would have been the last woman living I’d 
think of in any such way, for. Doctor Richards ! there 
is that about Winny which would repel the advances 
of any but a hardened libertine. That girl, sir, is as 
pure, both in mind and body, as the drifting snow, 
and you know it as well as I do, if you’d only say 
BO. Good morning, doctor ! — good morning !” 

The old gentleman bowed stiflly and was moving 
away when the doctor, recovering, all at once, his 
habitual presence of mind, hurried before him 
saying : 

Allow me, Mr. Coulter !” then added before he 
turned the handle, “ I trust we are none the worse 
friends for what has passed, and I am sure you are 
too generous to seek to injure me in my practice by 
giving undue importance to a mere idle jest.” 

“ Hum ! jest, indeed !” repeated the other, snap- 
pishly — “ a fine jest truly, and a harmless one — very ! 
—let me pass, doctor — will you ?” 

‘‘Well, but, Mr. Coulter, you will oblige me by 
saying nothing of what has passed between us !” 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


245 


“ As far as Mrs. Coulter is concerned, I will make 
no such promise. Winny, too, must hear how the 
matter stands. As for any one else hearing of your 
little peccadilloes from me, you needn’t fear, doctor 
— I have something else to mind besides retailing 
choice bits of scandal — I leave that to your pious 
folk. Doctor Richards. Good morning to you! — 
Excuse my tresspassing on your time!” and with 
the same tantalizing smile on his thin puckered lips, 
and the same cool, keen irony in his full, manly 
tones, away bustled Mr. Coulter, leaving the doctor 
to his meditations, which were anything but agree- 
able in their nature at that particular juncture. 

Mr. Coulter made it a point to be home early to 
dinner that day, so early, indeed, that Mrs. Coulter 
was taken quite aback, and thought it necessary to 
apologize. The dinner was not quite ready yet, 
that tiresome Eve was so slow. There was really 
no such thing as getting along with her. 

Mr. Coulter, which w'as rather unusual with him, 
declared himself in no hurry, he could wait a little 
while, provided it were not too long. “ As to Eve,” 
said he, ‘‘ she is one of your own choice, my dear, 
so I have nothing to say between you, When you 
hud one who could put the dinner on the table pre- 
cisely to the minute, without the slightest trouble 
to you, there was one fault and another constantly 
Jbund out in her — faults that nobody saw but your- 
self, — you never stopped till you got rid of her. So 
pray let me hear no more complaints now 1” 


216 


CON o’rf.gan ; OR, 

Wby, Samuel, how on earth could I put up with 
Winny, after hearing what I did of her ? — you are 
really very unreasonable !” 

“Not a bit of it, my good Prudence, not a bit of 
it. You ought to have known Winny better than 
to hearken to such slanderous stories against her. 
Did you ever see anything improper in her conduct 
or deportment ? — eh. Prudence ?” 

“Well! of course, I can’t say I ever did, but then 
Doctor Richards found out something, and you know 
there was no possibility of his being mistaken.” 

“Was there not, indeed? — I tell you. Prudence, 
whether he was mistaken, or whether he had taken 
some little pique against Winny, he trumped, up the 
whole story out of his own imagination.” 

“ Mr. Coul ter! — you as-ton-ish me ! — Doctor Rich- 
ards a pique against Winny! — why, how on earth 
could you think of such a thing ?” 

“ Because I have it from no less a person than the 
doctor himself, my dear !” said Mr. Coulter, with an 
exuding smile, and a nod to match, “ that is to say, 
I fished the precious secret out of the miry pool 
where it lay in his heart — not with his will, Mrs 
Coulter, you may be sure. Are you as ton-ished now, 
my dear ?” 

“ Well, after that, nothing will ever astonish me 
again — nothing ! But do tell me, Samuel 1 what you 
have discovered 1” 

“ I will, if you promise to say nothing about it, for 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


241 


T had to promise not to speak of it except to you and 
Winny.” 

Mr. Coulter well knew that such a promise was 
sure to be kept for fear of disgracing the conventicle 
which rejoiced in the membership of the worthy doc- 
tor. So, having received the promise, he repeated 
to his wife his previous conversation with Dr. Rich- 
ards, and when she had heard all, she held up her 
hands in utter amazement. 

“Well! I’m sure no one ever could have thought 
of such a thing I Dear me 1 I shall never like that 
Dr. Richards again! — though, after all, Samuel, we 
must not be too harsh in oiir judgment on an erring 
brother ” 

“ Brother me no brothers. Prudence !” cried hei 
husband ; “ the man is no brother of mine, and never 
shall be, please the fates ! I’d rather have a decent 
Hindoo for a brother ! — I would, by Jupiter I” 

Mr. Coulter seldom swore, but when he did, he 
took good care to make his oath as imposing as pos- 
sible, without actually blaspheming the name of God, 
for which he had a certain degree of respect. “ Now, 
Prudence!” said he* as his wife rang the bell to 
“hurry up” the dinner, “now. Prudence, my dear 
wife, I wish you to understand that Winny’s reputa- 
tion is clearly restored — you admit that fact — don't 
you ?” 

“ Oh ! of course — I know you never state a false- 
hood.” 

“ Well, then !— that point is settled now and for 


248 CON O^KEGAN ; OR, 

ever ! — I am to hear no more of it !— remember 
that !»’ 

“ Why, Samuel ! how you do talk I Surely, I 
cannot tell how the girl may conduct herself here- 
arter.” 

“ That is not the question — we have only to deal 
with the past. Winny will trouble you no more, so 
let her rest in peace, as Catholics say of their dead. 
Now, then, for that savory soup of yours. Pru- 
dence.” Peace thus proclaimed and duly estab- 
lished, the rich pea-soup was discussed with exqui- 
site gout^ Mr. Coulter observing as he handed back 
his plate for a fresh supply : “ Rest in peace, indeed ! 
— the peace of the grave is but a sorry peace after 
all. For my part, like honest Charley Lamb, ‘ I 
would set up my tabernacle here. I am in love 
with this green earth,’ and have no hankering after 
the peace or happiness of that spirit-land of which 
men talk and write, just as though any of them had 
ever seen it. Pshaw ! this smoking, juicy joint,” 
and he plunged the fork into a tempting piece of 
roast beef, “ is worth an hundred of those ‘ baseless 
fabrics,’ which make up what is called ‘ revealed 
religion.’ Still, they are all very well in their way, 
especially for those who have not much of the crea- 
ture comforts here below. The poor people of 
Ireland, for instance — no wonder they have such 
faith in things unseen, for their lot here is weary 
enough.” 

Such was the usual course of Mr. Coulter’s semi 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


249 


religious, semi-philosophic musings, spoken aloud 
on the present occasion under the influence of the 
good man’s sensible satisfaction. His wife listened 
with more displeasure than surprise, contenting 
herself with a dissenting shake of the head, and a 
freezing “ Fie, fie, Samuel ! why will you talk so ?” 
Then adroitly changed the subject to one of more 
immediate interest, namely, the steady improvement 
of Rachel’s health, which had been at first rather 
precarious. 

“ But, Prudence I” said Mr. Coulter, as if with 
sudden recollection, “ did I ever tell you that Con 
O’Regan is going out West in the spring ?” 

“Out West! — why, no! — how can he go out 
West ? — what is he going to do there ? ’ 

Mr. Coulter laughed. “ One question at a time, 
my dear, if you please.” 

“ Well ! but, Samuel, what is he going to do ?” 

“ Why, to settle on a farm, to be sure ? — what else 
would he do ?” 

Mrs. Coulter began to look very grave, and fixed 
a penetrating glance on her husband. “And the 
money? — how is he to get a farm anywhere? Farms 
a’nt got for nothing, I reckon.” * 

“Sometimes they are, but Con don’t need that, 
My sisters are going to advance him whatever sum 
is necessary till such time as he can repay it.” 

Oh ! your sisters !” said the lady, with a some* 
what incredulous air ; “ that is always the excuse 
A likely story, truly I” 


250 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

“Prudence!” said the husband, with one of his 
sternest looks, “ do you mean to doubt the truth of 
what I tell you ?” 

“ Oh ! of course I don’t, Samuel. I should be 
very sorry, indeed ; but, then, one cannot help 
thinking, you know, how exceedingly convenient it 
is to have sisters with such ample funds at their com- 
mand 1” 

“ It is certainly very convenient for my sisters 
themselves,” said Mr. Coulter, sharply; “I should 
be sorry to see them without funds, as you say, de- 
pending on you or me. Prudence. May they never 
be reduced to that position ! But let that pass — 
tliey are doing what I tell you for Con O’Regan, let 
their funds be as they may.’^ 

“ And Winny ? I suppose they are sending her, 
too?” 

“Not exactly! — I dare say they are of opinion 
that Winny would find prairie-life rather hard for 
awhile. She remains with them till her brother’s 
wife and children come out from Ireland, next year 
or so — then they will all go together.” 

“Well! I have only to observe,” said Mrs. Coul- 
ter, as she rang her table-bell, “ that your sisters are 
extremely free with their money. They should have 
been born Irish — they are so improvident.” 

“ Why, Prudence ! this from you ! Can it be ne- 
cessary to remind a chosen vessel of that heavenly 
treasury where neither the rust nor the moth doth 
consume, &o. ?” 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


251 


“ Pshaw ! — nonsense !” cried the wife, in a queru- 
lous tone, detecting in her husband’s unusually 
solemn and measured accents the slighest possible 
imitation of her favorite preacher. “ There’s a time 
for all things. I don’t profess to understand the 
sayings or doings of eccentric persons, and I beg 
you will say no more on the subject. I am not suf- 
ficiently benevolent to be consulted in the very be- 
nevolent whims of your good sisters. I shall mind 
my own affairs — let them mind theirs.” 

“All right. Prudence! all right! — good-bye now 
— I must be off!” and waiting to hear no more, the 
old gentleman hurried to the hall in search of his 
hat and overcoat, muttering to himself, as was his 
wont : “ Speculative charity is one thing, and opera- 
tive charity another. I rather think the former is 
the more fashionable amongst you all 1 Humph I — 
eccentric, indeed I — I wish you had some of such ec- 
centricity — just a little more of the milk that we all 
wot of would do you no harm, my good lady 1” 

About the same time that Mr. Coulter was going 
back to his office, little Patsey Bergen, on his way 
to the afternoon school, overtook Terry Dwyer, not 
far from the school-house door. 

“ Hillo, Dwyer 1 is this you?” 

“ Why, yes, I guess it is. Have you most got 
over your whipping, Patsey ? — father told me you 
bad a first-rate one. I don’t know how you felt, but 
[ felt real sore, I tell you !” 

“ Ho matter how I felt,” said Patsey, with a sud’ 


252 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


den change of manner,” I a’nt going to have another 
whipping like that.” 

“Oh I I know — you’ll be a good boy for the time 
to come.” 

“hTo, I won’t — I’m blowed if I will ! — but if ever 

father undertakes to use me so again, I’ll ,” he 

stopped. 

“You’ll what?” said the other, in breathless ea- 
gerness. 

“ I’ll run away ! — I will ! — I’ll clear out from them 
altogether.” 

“ You will, eh ? — and where will you go to ?” 

“ Never you mind that, Terry — I’ll go where they 
shan’t find me. Jake Hampton told me that he ran 
away once ’case his father wouldn’t give him any 
money, and after he was gone a week, he came right 
home again, and the old folk were ever so glad to 
see him, and ever sence he jest gits what money he 
wants and goes wherever he has a mind to.” 

Dwyer shook his head. “I wouldn’t do it, if I 
were you, Patsey.” 

“ There . — Patsey again. I a’nt a going to have 
folks call me so any longer.” 

“And what am I to call you? — Patrick, I suppose, 
because father says Patrick’s a good name.” 

“ No, it a’nt a good name!” said young Bergen, 
stoutly; “Patrick is just as bad as Patsey, and 
they’re both the same as Paddy Call me Bergen — ■ 
not Patsey or Patrick. Don’t you see how I call 
you Dwyer ev-er since yesterday, ’case Henry Clay 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


253 


Brown said Terry was a nasty Irish name, too, just 
like Paddy. Now mind, you call me Bergen, and 
I’ll call you Dwyer — if I once got away from our 
folks I’d have others call me Jake or Jeff, or some 
such pretty name.” 

“ Hush — h — h — !” cried young Dwyer, as he opened 
the door of their school-room — “ come along in, Pat- 
sey !” 

“ Patsey !” repeated the little rebel, knitting his 
brows together. 

“ Oh, bother ! — I meant Bergen !— come in quick 
— T guess we’re late ! 

When school was dismissed, Terry Dwyer, on 
gaining the street, looked round in search of his 
friend Patsey, but the latter was nowhere to be 
seen, and Terry was fain to hurry home, having a 
salutary fear of his father’s muscular arm raised in 
punishment. He was jogging along home whistling 
“ Dandy Jim from Caroline,” then the most popular 
of melodies in all American cities, when out popped 
Patsey’s curly head from an archway, and after it 
came imtanter the burly little figure of the owner, 
accompanied by the identical Jake Hampton, whose 
example he had triumphantly cited in the morning. 
Hampton lounged away in another direction, leav- 
ing our young friends to “ wend their homeward 
way” as they chose. 

“ Well, Bergen! what’s in the wind now?” said 
Terry, with a knowing smile. 

‘‘Why, Jake has just been a-telling me as how he 


254 


CON O^KEGAN ; OR, 


wouldn’t go to that far away place where uncle lives, 
if he were me. He says he’s sure it’s a rum sort of 
place, for he heard his old Uncle Ben say so. There’s 
only buffaloes and Irishmen there, folks say, and if 
a boy wanted to run away he couldn’t do it, nohow. 
It a’nt a bit like here, Jake says.” 

“Well! I don’t know anything about it,” said 
Dwyer, musingly, “ but I guess you’d better go with 
your folks, wherever they go. At any rate, you’d 
better say nothing of the kind at home, or you’ll 
catch it.” 

“Aha!” laughed Patsey, “I a’nt so green as that. 
I know a thing or two.” And so, with a farewell 
nod, he turned a corner in the direction of his home. 



SMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


255 


CHAPTER XV. 

During all this time Paul Bergen and his wife 
were anxiously looking out for an answer from 
Felix, now fearing that he might change his mind, or 
that some untoward accident might occur to frus- 
trate their cherished hopes, now endeavoring to an- 
ticipate the contents of the expected letter, and lay- 
ing down plans for procuring the necessary outfit. 
Even the presents to be taken to Felix and his wife 
were not forgotten. Fearful of being led into 
temptation at so critical a juncture, Paul was most 
careful in avoiding all those whose company he had 
found dangerous in times past. Dances and raffles 
he gave up altogether, taking care, however, to give 
whatever he could afford at the time in aid of the 
charitable purpose for which either was got up. 
Many a sneer, and many a bitter taunt he had to en- 
counter in the course of this long probation, but as 
he used to say to Nora, or Andy Dwyer : “ It’s my- 
self that has the fine broad back to bear it all, and I 
can let them laugh as long as they like when my 
conscience tells me I’m in the right. ‘ They may 


256 


CON o’rf.gan j or, 

1 

laugh that win,* is an old saying, and maybe I’ll have 
the laugh in the long run. If Felix keeps in the same 
mind, an* sends for us as he promised, I can snap my 
fingers at them all.” 

Meanwhile, he had contrived, by the closest eco- 
nomy, to save some fifteen or twenty dollars, which 
was to “ help with the outfit, if they were going in 
the spring, as, please God ! they would.” 

Leaving them to enjoy the mingled hope and fear 
of their expectant state, let us see how Con O'Regan 
employed his time while waiting for the coming 
spring. He had obtained a situation as storeman in 
a wholesale liquor store not far from the new estab- 
lishment of Coulter, Pirns & Co., and, at first, he 
thought he had been very fortunate, inasmuch as 
most of the hands employed about ‘‘ the concern” 
were countrymen of his own. It is true their 
manners and even their appearance were rather 
against the supposition, but then their names — why, 
surely, Tom Houlahan, and Phil Byrne, and Larry 
Smith, must be Irish, else how did they come by such 
patronymics? Tes! these three were certainly his 
own countrymen. That was very clear to Con, and 
be treated them from the first in quite an easy, fami- 
liar way, very different from the involuntary re- 
straint which marked his intercourse with the others. 
After a few days, however, he became somewhat 
doubtful as to the “ birth and breeding” of his com- 
panions with the old Celtic names. Their lineage 
was, of course, unmistakeable, but that was small com 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 257 

fort to’ Con. He found out, to his great mortifica- 
tion, that Tom Houlahan laughed at all religion, and 
made it his boast that he “ did just as he had a mind 
to, and didn’t care a chaw of tobacco for priest or 
minister.” Every man, according to Tom, had a 
right to live as well and as long as he could, and 
as for a future state of reward or punishment, 
that was all a sham, intended by lying preachers 
to get money out of folks’ pockets nice and 
slick.” Such was Houlahan’s creed. As for Smith 
and Bj^rne, they had a sort of notion that they 
ought to be Catholics, and would never make any 
direct attack on the Papists or “ Romanists” as 
a body, which was quite common with Houlahan, 
but still they never went the length of going to 
Church, laughed at the idea of going to confession, 
or depriving the body of any comfort for the good 
of the soul. They, each of them, had one or other 
parent living, and would admit that the “old man” 
or “ the old woman” went to Church, “ and all that,” 
but, as for themselves, that was quite another thing. 
They were too tired after the week’s work to get up 
and go to Mass on Sunday mornings. They left that 
for the old folk, who had nothing else to do but go 
to Church and pray. As to the sacred obligations 
of religion, they seemed to know little and care less. 
This was all very new and very strange to Con, who, 
gradually finding out his first mistake, began invo- 
luntarily to shrink into himself, and to observe his 
companions wit^ a sort of painful curiosity. They 


S58 


CON o’kegan ; OR, 


were all more or less addicted to profane language , 
strangely sounding oaths and imprecations were fa- 
miliar to their lips. Houlahan was the worst, as 
might well be expected in a man who boasted of 
having no faith. The sacred name of God and the 
accursed name of Satan were all the same to him, 
and both were frequently on his lips, without rever- 
ence for the one, as without horror of the other. It 
was one of his proudest boasts that he had been 
born in that city, “ he was a native, every inch of 
him,” and was death on all foreigners. This piqued 
Con not a little, and he sometimes forgot himself so 
far as to retort upon Houlahan, by reminding him 
of his parents, who, to Tom’s indelible disgrace, had 
been “ mere Irish.” 

“ What do you think your poor father and mother 
would say if they heard you now, Houlahan ?” 

“ They be d — d I what care I what they’d say ? 
If they hadn’t chanced to be Irish, I’d have been a 
true-blue American, and not as I am, a half-breed 
sort of a feller. If I only had my choice I wouldn’t 

have a drop of Irish blood in me. Ho, by ! I 

would not.” 

“ It’s a pity you couldn’t get new blood in your 
reins,” observed Con, with sly humor; “if I was in 
your place I’d try, at any rate.” 

“ None of your dry jokes now !”^ would Houlahan 
answer; “if I have Irish blood in my veins, I a’nt 
a confounded Papist like you, bending the knee to 
erosses and pictures and all such stuff. I’m a free- 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 259 

born American, my boy ! and have no master but 
myself. I a’nt any of your mean-spirited, old- 
womanish fellers as go to confession, and count 
their beads, and take a bath of holy water once in 
a while — to cool their crazy brains, I guess. I 
ha’nt got anything Irish about me but the name, 
and ril make folks forget that, by jingo 1’’ 

It sometimes happened that either Smith or 
Byrne would take up the cudgels against Tom, 
undertaking to call him to account for his anti-Irish, 
or anti-Catholic tendencies. Tom, however, would 
soon silence them with: 

“ Shut up there ! — You have no right to talk. — 
You’re native-born like myself, and as for your 
being Papists, I don’t believe a word of it. I never 
sets any one down in black and white as a Papist 
unless he goes to their Church regular. Some folks 
may, but I don’t, so I’ll give you credit for being 
free citizens like myself, if you’ll only keep from 
making yourselves out what you are not. It’s 
enough for O’Regan to talk and not you. He 
ha’nt got the verdant hue of ‘ ould Ireland’ off him 
yet, and his religion is boiling hot. So it’s good 
fun talking to him, and trying to cool him down 
somewhat. He’s a good, feller, is O’Regan, and I 
want to wean him off his old Paddy-ish notions 
which will never do here.” 

Tins was satisfactory to all save Con himself, who 
would coolly answer: “It’s very good of you, in- 
deed, Houlahan, to take so much trouble on my ac- 


260 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

connt, but you needn’t mind. I’m too old a bird to 
be caught with chaff, and as to your weaning, I’d, 
have you to know that I cut my eye teeth long ago. 
So, you see, there’s not much chance of my being 
weaned now.” 

This would call forth a general laugh, but Con 
was proof against laughter as well as reproach, and 
day after day he looked with more distrust on those 
whom he had at first singled out for the kindly in- 
terchange of friendly sympathy. 

A few days after Con entered upon the duties of 
his new situation the feast of the Purification came 
round, and as most of the solemn festivals of the 
Church are, in those parts, postponed to the follow- 
ing Sunday, Con knew he had liberty to work as 
usual. Nevertheless he took care to hear Mass the 
first thing, in order to sanctify the day. On his 
way home he met Byrne, who asked him w'here he 
had been so early. 

“ I was at Mass.” 

“ At Mass ! — the deuce you were ! — do you go to 
Mass every morning ?” 

“No, indeed, Phil! I do not. But, you know, 
this is the feast of the Purification — Candlemas Day 
we used to call it at home, and it was always a 
holyday with us. So I thought I’d just run up to 
the Church and hear Mass before I’d go to my 
work.” 

A loud laugh was Byrne’s reply, as he turned 
away, but he waited to tell Con that he ought to put 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


261 


on petticoats at once. “ My old mother and you 
would make a famous pair,” said he; “I warrant 
you she’s been to Mass, too, this morning. For my 
part, I'm in more humor of sleeping than praying.” 
And a gaping yawn confirmed the assertion. 

“Why, you must have been up very early!” re- 
marked Coo, endeavoring to repress the indignation 
npturally excited by the other's insolent taunt. 

“Early! Ha ! ha ! I guess I was, for I ha’nt 
been in bed all night. I fell in with a set of jolly 
fellers last night down to Bryan Fitzsimmons’, and 
we had such glorious fun that we kept it up all night. 
I was first rate while it lasted, but I guess I’ll pay 
for my share of it all day, for I know I shan't be 
able to keep my eyes open.” 

“Well! well!” said Con, “I’m sorry you haven’t 
more sense, Phil. You’d better hurry home now 
and get your breakfast. You’ll not have much time 
to spare.” 

“ My breakfast !” said the other, with something 
like a growl ; “ yes, if I can get it. If that tarnation 
old woman ha’nt it ready, she’ll catch it for her 
church-going — I swan she will !” And so saying, 
the dutiful son hurried away as fast as his tottering 
limbs would carry him. Con stood looking after 
him for a moment, and then resumed his homeward 
way, with a deep-drawn sigh, and a sense of humi- 
liation for which he could hardly account. 

“ Ah, then I God help the mothers of the world !” 
said he, within himself; “many’s the hard day that 


262 


CON o’kegan ; OR, 

poor woman had, rearing you,” apostrophizing 
Byrne, “and this is her thanks now! , Sure enough, 
God is good and patient when He lets the like of 
you go on from day to day and from, year to year ! 
Well! it’s no wonder one’s heart warms to poor Ire- 
land, for we’d be a long time in it before we’d hear 
the like of that.” 

Before many hours had passed. Con had reason to 
repent of having told Byrne that he had been at 
Mass that morning, for Byrne told it to the others as 
a capital joke, and it was bandied from mouth to 
mouth all the forenoon, till happily something newer 
turned up. Con’s patience was sorely tried, and he 
was several times on the point of making a sharp 
retort, but then again he would think, “that would 
only make matters worse. If there was any dis- 
turbance raised, they’d be sure to lay the blame on 
me, and I haven’t Mr. Coulter here to take my part, 
God grant me patience with these fellows!” 

Byrne’s heavy eyes were, of course, noticed, and 
he was laughingly called upon to give an account of 
himself — which he did, nothing loath, well knowing 
that neither ridicule nor censure awaited him. It 
turned out, in fact, that he was not the only one 
who had gone without sleep, for Houlahan had been 
to a Native Meeting, which had carried its noisy de- 
liberations far into the night, “ and after that,” said 
the narrator^ with a low chuckling laugh, “ we went 
some here and some there in search of amusement, 
I guess it was near morning when I got home,” he 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


263 


concluded, “ so I tumbled into my nest for an hour 
or two, till some of the boarders knocked at my 
door and told me breakfast was ready.” 

This was all very intelligible, even to Con, with 
the exception of two words which required explana- 
tion. “A Native Meeting I” said he; “ah! then, 
Tom, what kind of a meeting is that, if you please ?” 

“ Hear the greenhorn now how he talks !” was 
Iloulahan’s good-humored answer; “but, I guess, 
we must enlighten him. A Native Meeting is one 
got up to keep you and all other such covies in your 
own places. Do you understand ?” 

Con did understand, though not until he had re- 
flected for a moment. The old Milesian blood 
mounted to his cheek, and on his lips was a caustic, 
scathing answer, but he resolutely kept down the 
unruly spirit and drove back the sharp rebuke into 
his heart. Biting his lips till they were almost 
white, he thanked Houlahan for his explanation, and 
removed himself as soon as he possibly could from 
the hearing of whatever might pass between the 
worthy friends and companions. 

Happily for Con there were one or two real full- 
blooded Americans also employed in the store, men, 
who minded their business and nothing else, and 
with them he usually took refuge, when his patience 
was well nigh exhausted with the levity, and heart- 
lessness, and irreligion of the others. True only to 
the light-hearted and somewhat volatile character 
of their race, these Irish Yankees had lost every 


264 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

higher and more noble trait of the people from 
whom they sprang. The genial kindness of heart, 
the reverence for sacred and venerable things, the 
respect for authority, all these were gone — 

“ Fled like the baseless fabric of a vision, 

Leaving no trace behind.” 

Ah ! little indeed do the generality of Irish pa- 
rents think, as they see their children growing up 
around them amongst a worldly and irreligious peo 
pie, of the fearful gulf which passing years will cre- 
ate between them and their offspring — a gulf which 
may be eternal I Little indeed can they foresee of the 
evil which may come upon themselves because of 
those very children, and if not to themselves, un- 
doubtedly to the children, when they are gone to 
another world to render an account of the manner 
in which they discharged their parental duties ! 

It came to pass after a little while that Con closed 
his ears altogether against the discourse of Houlahan 
and the two sham Catholics, so that even when he 
chanced to be near them he heard but little of what 
they said. One day, however, his attention was ar- 
rested by the name of Tom Derragh, accidentally 
mentioned by Smith. 

“ So you know Derragh ?” said Con. 

“ Why, yes, I guess I do !— we ha’nt been a-board- 
ing in the same house these three months without 
my knowing him. What do you know about him 

“ Oh ! not much since he came to this country, but 
we’re from the same place at home.” 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEIV WORLD. 


205 


“Tom’s a rum customer,” observed Smith; “at 
times, you’d think him a first-rate feller, ready and 
willing to help on the fun, up to everything in fact, 
and neither boring himself nor others with any of 
your confounded nonsense ; the next time you’re out 
with him, he’ll be as ticklish as a young colt, afraid 
of his very shadow, and preaching up religion and 
sobriety, nothing less ! He’s for all the world like a 
weather-cock — you’re never sure of finding him one 
day in the same humor. You know Derragh, don’t 
you, Houlahan ?” 

“ Know him ?” said the other, with a portentous 
shake of the head and a grim smile ; “ ay ! that I 
do. He has a fist like a sledge-hammer — he has ! 
We quarrelled once down to Thomson Dillon’s, and 
the confounded ass gave me a box just here on the 
bridge of the nose that made the blood flow, I tell 
you. I had the mark of that blow on my phiz for 
weeks after in black, blue, and yaller. But he 
didn't have it all for nothing!” he added, with a 
scowl of gratified revenge ; “ Jim Lawson and me 
fell on him, and I reckon we grave him about the 
worth of what he gave me. Oh 1 yes, I know Der- 
ragh I — I do ! and a d — d scoundrelly Paddy he is 
too. He ha’nt got no more spirit than nothing. 
There’s Jason Gallagher as was working with him 
on board the Pennsylvania last Fall — ask him what 
Tom Derragh is 1” 

“ Ah !” said Con, within himself, “ isn’t it hard 
for any one to keep straight among such lads as 


266 


CON o’rf.gan ; OR, 

these ! — how could poor Tom be anything else f 
If I was among them as long as he is maybe it’s far 
worse than him I’d be ! God keep every one out 
of harm’s way I” 

The next time Con met Tom Derragh it was in 
Barney Brady’s, where he went with Andy D^vyer 
to inquire after a certain Peter Whelan, who was 
said to have some idea of going out West. Peter 
was from the same parish with Barney, and had 
come out in the same ship with him. But their 
paths had diverged very soon after landing, Peter 
being a sober, industrious man, given to saving 
money, whereas Barney was the direct opposite — a 
careless, improvident, good-natured fellow, who 
could hardly ever let one dollar overtake another in 
his pocket. Peter was known to have some hun- 
dreds of dollars saved, for he had but a small family, 
and his wife was to the full as careful as himself. 
His little savings were regularly invested in the 
Savings Bank, where interest had been accumulat- 
ing on interest until Peter had quite a nice little in- 
dependence, the pride of his own and his wife’s heart. 
Latterly he had taken it into his head to invest 
his money in land for the benefit of himself and his 
three boys, who, as Peter said, will be gettin’ 
young men on my hands some of these days, and 
they may as well be workin’ for themselves out on a 
farm, as for others here in the city for a trifle of 
wages that’ll go as fast as it’s earned.” 

Con having ascertained Peter’s whereabouts, said 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 26T 

he would go on the following Sunday, with God’s 
help, and see him. He then turned to Tom, who 
was smoking and lounging lazily with his elbow on 
the table near where Peggy sat at her knitting. 

“ Why, Tom, there’s some of our men that knows 

“ Very likely !” said Tom, puffing out the smoke 
faster still. “ There’s a good many as knows me. I 
guess you mean Larry Smith — don’t you ? He told 
me about you’re being there.” 

“Yes, and Tom Houlahan — a great friend of 
yours \” added Con, slily. 

“ He be hanged !” said Tom, taking the pipe 

out of his mouth in order to express himself with 
the desired energy ; “ he be hanged I he’s no friend 
of mine, nor never was — he’s as big a rap as ever 
stood in shoe leather.” 

“ He’s a Catholic, is he ? inquired Con, very in- 
nocently. 

“Is it Houlahan?” said Tom, indignantly; “why, 
the fellow has no more religion in him than a dog, 
and he hates Catholics as he hates — hunger! He 
got at me one time about my old dad being in pur- 
gatory, and wanted to know if I couldn’t spare a 
trifle to the priest to get him out. Faith he did. 
Con, that very Houlahan ! but I tell you I answer- 
ed him in a way that he didn’t bargain for. I flat- 
tened his big nose for him, and made him anybody’s 
fancy. I warrant you he let me. alone ever since 
about religion — he did so, for he found it was the 


268 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

best of his play !’* And Tom resumed his pipe with 
great self-complacency. A heavy sigh from Peggy 
made him turn quickly in her direction. 

“What’s the matter with you now, Peggy?” he 
asked in a softened voice. 

“ Oh ! nothing worth speaking of,” said Peggy, in 
her usually subdued tone — “ I was only thinking of 
the quare world we’re in — that’s all.” 

Tom eyed her a moment in silence as though con- 
sidering what her words might mean, but Peggy’s 
meaning lay too deep for his penetration, never of 
the keenest, and he had his ow'n reasons for not ply- 
ing her with questions. He was silent for a moment, 
and then he said to Con with something like a smile : 

“I don’t know how it is. Con! but somehow I 
don’t feel as if I was the same man at all when I’m 
here with Peggy that I am elsewhere. The very 
sight of her always sets me a thinking, and I get a 
making ever so many good resolutions in my own 
mind ” 

“Ay I but they don’t last long,” said Peggy, with 
a mournful smile ; “ you’re no sooner in bad com- 
pany again than the good resolutions are all gone. 
An’ it’ll never be any other way, Tom — I tell you 
that plainly — till you keep away from them com- 
panions of yours altogether.” 

“But how could I do that, cdanyial when our 
work brings us together ? You know I must work 
or starve.” 

“Nonsense, Tom, nonsense! — see how Con O’Re* 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


269 


gan doesn’t starve, or Andy Dwyer there, or this 
very Peter Whelan they were talking of a while 
ago. They’re all working men like yourself, an’ 
still they choose their company. You see Con is 
in the very store with that Houlahan an’ Larry 
Smith, an’ how well he doesn’t take up with them. 
Oh, no ! because he has the grace of God about 
him, an’ knows he can’t handle pitch without dirty- 
ing his fingers. Shame on you, Tom Derragh, 
every one can have a dacent sperit but you. But, 
God help you! how could you be anything but 
what you are — you that hardly ever crosses a 
church door ?” 

“Well! I suppose it’s all true enough, Peggy,” 
said Tom, wincing just a little, “ but don’t be too 
hard on me ! There’s some of it your own fault, 
after all, and you know that well enough.” 

“ My fault !” said Peggy, sharply ; “ what do you 
mean by that, Tom Derragh ?” 

“ Why, if you’d only do what you ought to do, 
and take me for better for worse, you’d have it all 
in your own hands.” 

“Indeed then I wouldn’t,” said Peggy; with a 
scornful laugh; “I’m better as I am, an’ maybe so 
are you. I’m no wife for anybody now, God help 
me ! an’ you'rt just as bad on the other side. So 
there’s no use talkin’ that way.” 

“ There’s no use talkin’ to you at any time, Peggy,” 
said Tom, gruffly, “ only just what you take in your 
own head. A body might as well talk to the wall.” 


270 


CON o’rEOAN ; OR, 

“ Just as well !” echoed Peggy, who was already 
sinking into her dreamy abstraction. Tom looked 
at Con in a way that seemed to say : “ Did you ever 
see such a strange creature ?” Con smiled and shook 
his head, as much as to say : “ Between you be it ! 
You know each other best !” 

The truth is that he was, at the moment, listening 
much amused to the conversation going on in the 
rear between Andy Dwyer, Barney Brady and his 
wife. Andy had been lecturing Barney very gravely 
on his wasteful, improvident habits, Barney sitting 
the while, as it would seem, on the stool of repent- 
ance, and his wife enforcing “ the words of wisdom” 
by an occasional ejaculation, such as “That’s it, 
Andy! — that’s just Avhat I tell him I” “Hal ha! 
Barney, do you hear that ?” “ Put that in your pipe 

and smoke it!” Once or twice, however, Barney’s 
patience was too sorely tested by this joint attack, 
and, as he dared not rebel against Dwyer, for whom 
he had a great respect, he would turn short on bis 
wife with : 

“ Shut up now, Anty ! I want to hear none of 
your lingo ! Can’t you let the decent man go on 
without breakin’ in on him every now and then with 
your nonsense ?” 

“Just so, Anastasia,” would Andy add, “leave 
Bernard to me. Bernard knows that Pm for his 
good, and he'll mind what I say to him, I hope in 
God. He will walk no more in the way of the un- 
godly, or frequent the company of sinners. But I 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


271 


see my friend Cornelius is preparing to start, so I 
must bid you good-bye. Now, Anastasia, try and 
have a little more patience, remembering always that 
‘a soft word turneth away wrath,’ and for you, Ber- 
nard, let the taverns alone. When your day’s work 
is over, come home to your wife and your little 
family, and take up some good book to pass the time. 
The devil is afraid of good books, Bernard, take my 
word for it. Just do what I tell you, for a few even- 
ings, and you’ll soon get a heart-hatred for the drink 
and the bad company. Good night, now, Bernard ! 
— good night, Mrs. Brady! — and where’s Peggy?” 
Peggy stood up, and extended her hand to him with 
a smile; “good night, Peggy, ma colleen beg ! — • 
if we were all like you, Peggy 1 it would be well 
for some of us 1” So nodding to Tom, the worthy 
man followed Con down stairs. When he was gone, 
Barney and Tom exchanged a meaning glance, and 
a short, significant cough. 

“Bless my heart!” said Barney, with an ad mo- 
nitary motion of his finger, “ what a power of fine 
lingo Andy can put out. It’s a thousand pities he 
didn’t get on to be a priest. I declare he has me 
a’most convarted from them ‘ ways of the ungodly’ 
that he was talkin’ of. Don’t you think I look 
mighty solemn, Tom ?” 

“As solemn as an owl in a fir-tree,” said Tom; 
“and sure if you’re not convarted, Bernard, both 
you and Anastasia there,” mimicking Andy’s tone, 
‘•it isn’t Andy’s fault. Next time I come I expect 


2t2 


CON o’kegan ; OR, 


to find you hard and fast it Think "Well On or 
some other good book. The old boy is afeard of 
them, it seems, so if you’ll only hammer away at 
them for a time you’ll be able to hunt him when he 
comes.” 

Barney and his wife both laughed, but Peggy 
told them it was “ a shame for them to laugh at 
any such ravin’ nonseuse” — “go off out of this, 
Tom Derragh,” she added, angrily, “it’s in your 
bed you ought to be at this hour of the night, an’ 
not helpin’ up this poor foolish man here to make 
game of his betters an’ yours.” 

Tom attempted to apologize, but Peggy would 
hear nothing, and literally drove him out of the 
room, telling him not to come back till he learned 
better manners. 



EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD 


273 


CHAPTER XVT. 

On the lbllo\7ing Sunday when Con O’Regan 
took Paul Bergen with him to see Peter Whelan, 
they found himself and his wife “ in the height of 
trouble,” as they said themselves. It appeared 
that the Savings Bank in which Peter’s little hoard 
was invested had stopped payment a few days be- 
fore, and nothing could persuade the afflicted cou- 
ple but that all was lost. Andy did his best to per- 
suade them that the Bank would most probably go 
on as usual after a temporary suspension of pay- 
ment had enabled the company to arrange their 
affairs. But he might as well have tried to reason 
with the wind. Mrs. Whelan would hardly hear a 
word so great was her indignation against “ the 
robbers that lived by plunderin’ the poor, ridin’ 
about in their fine carriages, at the expense of 
creatures like them that earned their money bard 
and sore. And God knows but we did that!” she 
added with a burst of tears that came from her 
very heart. “There wasn’t a cent of ill-got mo-ney 
in them five hundred dollars, not one cent, and och! 
och! but that poor man and myself toiled many's 


274 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

tbe day and begrudged ourselves a’most the bit we 
ate or the rag we wore, so as to keep that money 
together !” 

“If we had only had the good luck,” said Peter, 
a thin and rather care-worn man, “ to have got out 
of this unlucky place last Fall when I wanted to go, 
we’d be all right now. We’d be settled by this 
time on a good farm of our own that no villains of 
bankers could take from us! But och! och I that 
wasn’t our luck! and now we’re just as if we never 
had a shillin.’ Black poverty is on us again, the 
Lord in heaven help us !” 

“Tut! tut, man!” said Andy, “don’t be so easy 
cast down. All’s not lost that’s in danger, you 
know. Here’s Cornelius O’Regan, a worthy young 
friend and countryman of ours. He has got a good 
chance that put him in the way of emigrating out 
West, and he heard you were thinking of going. 
Not a word now, Peter, if you please — I know 
what you’re going to say, but I tell you that you’ll 
be with him yet with the assistance of God !” 

“ I wish we could !” said Peter in a desponding 
tone, “ but there’s little chance of it now, still an’ 
all I’m glad to see you, Corny !” and he shook his 
hand warmly, as did also his wdfe. “ Since luck 
seems inclined to leave ws, I’m well pleased to see it 
with you. A week ago Mary and myself were full 
sure of being off in the spring with our little boys, 
but now — he slopped and heaved a deep sigh, 
then added quickly— “ but what’s the use of com- 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 




plaining? Sure there’s nothing can come on us 
but what God ordains for us. Dry up your tears, 
Mary, honey ! and see if you can’t find something 
for us to drink. I suppose you’re no teetotaller, 
Corny ?” 

“Well! I am!” said Con, “though 1 can’t say 
I ever took the pledge, but since I came to this 
country I just laid it on myself to avoid liquor 
altogether.” 

“ And you’re so far right,” said Peter, with an ap- 
proving nod to his wife. “ It takes a man to have 
all his wits about him here to get along at all, and 
as for the money it’s a short way it goes if a body 
once gets a habit of tippling. Oh ! there’s no fear 
of you but you’ll do well wherever you go. I might 
have known you were a decent, sober young man, 
or you and Andy wouldn’t be much together.” 

“Well!” said Andy, “I’m obliged to you, Peter, 
for your good opinion, and I must own that I am 
rather particular in chosing my company, bearing 
always in mind what the great Apostle Paul tells us 
in one of his Epistles — I forget which of them, in- 
deed ! that ‘ evil communication corrupts good mo- 
rals.’ But you must excuse us now, Peter, for my 
woman made me promise to bring Cornelius here 
back to tea, and I think it is drawing towards even- 
ing. Good-bye, Mrs. Whelan ! keep up your heart, 
ma’am I and pray to God, and you’ll see things won’t 
\>e so bad with you as you expect.” 

“Well! God grant it!” was the pious response 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


^ure if it’s His holy will to give us back our bard 
earnin’ again, none of them can keep it from us. But 
och 1 I’m afeard, Andy dear ! that there’s little 
chance 1” 

“ There may be more than you think now,” said 
Andy, looking back, “ so mind and don’t be faint- 
hearted !” 

Andy spoke against his own convictions, as he ac- 
knowledged to Con when they were some distance 
from the house. “ If they do get a share of it,” said 
he, “ I’m afraid it’ll be a very small one. When va- 
gabonds like these once get their hands closed on 
the money, it’ll be hard to get it out of their clutches. 
God forgive them this day, and may He open their 
eyes to the iniquity of robbing the industrious poor 1 
But, you see, Cornelius ! this is only another proof 
that land is the best thing to invest money in. 
There’s no bank like a good farm, for there’s no 
bank so sure but it may go some day, whereas the 
farm can never fail, if a man only takes care to till 
it. The earth will always bring forth its fruit, Cor- 
nelius, for the Lord has promised that seed-time and 
harvest shall never fail.” 

Con listened with respectful attention, admiring 
the depth of Andy’s wisdom, and thanking God at 
the same time that he was in a fair way of having 
the promise realized in his behalf. Everything he 
saw and heard deepened the conviction on his mind 
that the city was no place for him or his, and he be- 
gan to look forward with eager expectation to the 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 27t 

day that was to liberate him from its thralls, aud 
send him forth to breathe the pure air of the coun* 
try as a tiller of the soil. 

“ This packing of boxes and barrels and wheeling 
of trucks,” said he to Winny* when he went to see 
her after tea, “ is a tiresome thing after all, and 
a man might be at it for years and years without bet- 
terin’ his condition. When I get on the farm, I’ll 
have to work hard, to be sure, but then it’ll be for 
myself and my family. There’s not a day’s work I 
do, but it’ll be so much before me, an’ besides that’s 
the kind of work that I like to be at, out all day in the 
open air, and not cooped up within four walls, lis- 
tenin’ to all kinds of bad discoorse, an’ seein’ very 
little that’s good. I wish it was the morrow we 
were to start — but — but — ” he hesitated as he look- 
ed at Winny and saw the tear gathering in her eye. 

“ But what. Con ?” 

“ Why, nothing, only I’m afeard you’ll be very 
lonesome after I go, till such times as Biddy comes 
out,” 

•' Oh I never fret about that,” said his sister, with 
forced cheerfulness ; “ how did I do before you came 
at all — w'’hen the salt ocean was betwixt us ? — but 
God was with me then, and he'll be with me again 
when I have no one else — blessed be His namel” 

Many little matters were discussed and settled on 
that evening during the two hours that Con staid, 
for Letty was gone to church to hear a great sermon 
from Mr. Shilling worth, which the ladies would not 


m 


CON 0 REGAN ; OR, 


have her miss for anything. Being thus freed from 
the restraint of her presence and the annoyance of 
her good-natured officiousness, the brother and sister 
talked over everything that concerned them— things 
past, present, and future, until the sound of the door- 
bell apprized them of the return of the Misses Coul- 
ter and Letty. 

“ My stars !” cried Letty, throwing her little bulky 
body heavily on the first chair she came to in the 
kitchen, “ my stars ! but I am tired ! — and I’m sure 
the sermon wan’t worth much after all. I’m real 
sorry I went. You’ve had such a nice, quiet chat 
here, you two. I a’nt hardly able to speak. That 
tiresome man kept us so long. But I had a comfort- 
able nap after all, only for that I’d have felt dreadful 
bad. My sakes I such an awful sermon ! It was 
two hours if it was one minute I Winny ! take my 
bonnet like a good creature. Well ! Con, when are 
you going to start ?” 

“ As early as we can in the month of April, Letty. 
They say the canals won’t be open sooner.” 

“ Oh, of course they won’t. But have you every- 
Uiing ready. Con ? and how many of you are going ?” 

Con laughed as he replied : I’m sorry I can't tell 
you, Letty, how many are going, but as for the pre- 
parations, I’m all ready, thanks to Winny there and 
some other body that gave her a good hand. IMay 
the Lord reward every one that assists the needy ! — 
and He will reward them an hundred-fold in the 
other world.” 


EMIGRANT LIFJ JN THE NEW WORLD. 

‘‘I dont know as to that,” said Letty, rathei 
thoughtfully, “ but let it be as it may, I guess it’s re- 
ward enough for one to have the pleasure of help- 
ing folks when they stand in need of it. I don’t 
want any other reward. As for them ’ere future re- 
wards, I wish we may git them, that’s all, but they 
aint sure, so they don’t count for much.” 

Winny and Con exchanged a look of melancholy 
meaning, but neither made any direct reply, for ex- 
perience had shown both that poor Le tty’s under- 
standing was encased in a double crust of ignorance 
and indifference which no effort of theirs could pen- 
etrate. 

Con soon after bade the girls good night and 
went on his way musing on Letty’s hard fate. Her 
ignorance of the simplest elements of religion was to 
him wholly inexplicable, considering how flippantly 
she talked of ministers and criticized sermons. 
Alas ! he knew little how empty, how hollow is the 
theoretical religion which Letty had heard preached 
from her infancy — how little hold it has on the 
heart, how little impression it makes on the mind. 
A mere chaos is the thing called Protestantism, dark 
and void, and shapeless like the original nothing 
from which the world was formed. 

Winny laid her head on her pillow that night in a 
more desponding spirit than was usual with her. 
She had prayed long and earnestly for the spiritual 
and temporal welfare of her brother, yet peace did 
not all at once descend on her troubled spirit. But 


280 


CON o’reoan ; r/R, 


anon came the recollection of the beautiful title: 
Comfort of the afflicted, bestowed by the Church on 
“Mary, the Mother of Jesus,” and the thought was 
as oil to the troubled waters. Deep in her heart 
she breathed the sweet prayer of St. Bernard, be- 
ginning with the words, “Remember, oh most pious 
and tender Virgin,” and the prayer was hardly ended 
when hope took possession of Winny’s soul, and 
tranquil slumber sealed her eyelids. 

In the course of a few days Con O’Regan heard 
that Andy’s conjectures were right as regarded poor 
Whelan’s loss. The Savings Bank was found wholly 
unable to resume payment, and how indeed could 
it ? its Directors and other officials had been for 
years investing its capital in divers speculations on 
their own separate accounts. Many of these specu- 
lations had been a dead failure; the main capital of 
the Bank was swallowed up ; whispers had gone 
abroad as to how the matter stood ; a run followed, 
and then came out the terrible truth. Thousands 
of poor people, very many of them Irish tradesmen 
and small dealers, were left penniless — the savings 
of years melted in a moment before their eyes into 
thin air, and the cry of sorrow was heard in many a 
home where peace and contentment had lately 
reigned. But what could be done? How were 
these poor deluded thousands to obtain redress ? 
They were foreigners, very low down, indeed, in the 
scale of social importance, while the robbers, the 
swindlers, were at its very summit. “ Grave and 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


281 


reverend signors,” mightily respected in the com- 
munity, occupying high seats in their respective con- 
venticles, and noted above all for their burning zeal 
for the conversion of Jews, Pagans, Romanists, and 
all other such unrighteous folk. One of the Direc- 
tors of the Bank, who was likewise one of the chief 
defaulters, presided at a meeting of the Home and 
Foreign Missionary Society on the very same even- 
ing that saw his delinquency published in the city 
journals. But “ Dalton was an honorable man,” none 
the less honorable for having made away with some 
fifty thousand dollars or so, of Irish money. What 
had the Irish serfs to do but make money to de- 
posit in Savings Banks for the furtherance of mer- 
cantile enterprize in that great and flourishir^g city ? 

But the public were not all of one mind on tl^s 
subject. Even in that Pharisaical city, and amongst 
its chief citizens, there were many who sympathized 
deeply with the poor victims of this wholesale rob- 
bery, and denounced with all their hearts the un- 
feeling hypocrites who thus wasted the substance of 
the poor. Foremost amongst these was our worthy 
friend, Mr. Coulter, who keenly felt the disgrace 
thus entailed on his whole class and on the city to 
which they all belonged. It so happened that his 
partner, Mr. Pirns, was one of the Directors of the 
Bank in question, and Mr. Coulter expressed his 
opinion of the whole concern in no very flattering 
terms. Entering the office one morning with a 
“ daily” in his hand, he accosted Pirns as follows : 


CON o’reoan ; OR, 


‘*I say, Pirns! were you at that meeting last 
night 

“ What meeting said the other, in affected sur* 
prise. 

“ Why that meeting of the Home and Foreign 
Missionary Society pointing, as he spoke, to the 
printed account, headed in flourishing capitals. 

“ I was not,” said Pirns ; “ I would have been, but 
for Mrs. Pims’s illness. She was pretty bad all the 
evening.” 

“ But I see Hutton was^ if you were not,” went on 
Mr. Coulter. “ He occupied the chair, it seems. I 
shouldn’t wonder if it blistered his nether end. Fitter 
for him to have been at home hiding his dishonored 
head. Well ' I would give a trifle to know now 
what kind of heart that man has got. As for reli- 
gion, the le^^ said about that the better for all con- 
cerned. But his heart — I should like to have it ansr 
lyzed, for it strikes mo it can’t be composed of flesh 
and blood, like other hearts — eh, Pirns ? Good God I” 
he suddenly added, giving the other no time to an- 
swer, what a monstrous anomaly I A man presid- 
ing at a meeting for the spread of the Gospel 
amongst unbelievers, and himself just then caught in 
the act of violating both the spirit and the letter of 
that Gospel. Bah 1 — how I loathe such hypocrites I 
Convert the heathen, indeed! and the Jew — and tho 
Papist ! — why there’s ne’er a one of them but may 
be nearer salvation at this moment than that ‘ whited 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 283 

eepulchre.’ Tou’re a precious fine set, Pirns! take 
you altogether !” 

“Why, really, Mr. Coulter!” said Pirns, with a 
-fiickly attempt at a smile, “ I cannot understand why 
you are so severe on Diitlon. Surely it is not his 
fault if the affairs of the Bank have not prospered. 
You wouldn’t have him pay, out of his own pocket, 
all these outrageous savages who are clamoring for 
money — hovering in crowds around the door, like 
crows watching for a carrion ? If you expect any 
such thing, I wouldn’t give much for your sense of 
justice. For my part, I’d see the confounded rabble 
in Jericho before I’d even think of such a thing !” 

“No doubt. Pirns, no doubt!” said his partner, 
with provoking coolness. “ These poor people are a 
confounded rabble, now that they begin to look for 
their money. If you called them confounded fooh^ 
now, I wouldn’t wonder, because if they were not 
fools they would never have given you and Duiton 
and Peterson and all the others the chance of feath 
ering your nests at their expense. If they asked my 
advice, they’d never invest one solitary cent in your 
Savings Banks. Savings Banks, indeed! Losing 
Banks would be the fitter name as regards the depo- 
sitors ! Has Wood been here to-day yet?” 

Pirns replied in the negative, and then sullenly 
turned away, muttering something that was anything 
but complimentary to his senior. The latter looked 
after him with a comical expression on his bluff 
features, then entered his own sanctum and carefully 


284 


CON o’rEGAN ; OR, 


closed the door. He had a thorough contempt for 
the school to which both his partners belonged, and 
it was seldom indeed that he attempted to conceal 
his sentiments on that or any other subject. Dissi- 
mulation in others was his special abhorrence, and 
he never, on any account, practised it himselt”. 

Could Mr. Coulter have traced the effects of this 
Bank failure in their individual application, his 
honest heart would have throbbed with still fiercer 
indignation. As it was, he could have only a gen- 
eral idea of the mournful consequences, but the 
deeper and more harrowing scenes of misery were 
beyond the sphere of his calculations, and well for 
him that it was so, since he had no means of reme- 
dying those evils which he could only deplore. 
Peter Whelan’s case, however lamentable, was none 
of the most deplorable. In one instance, it- was a 
family of several young children, whose father lay 
at the point of death. He had been a hard-work- 
ing, industrious mechanic, and with the assistance 
of his wife, who took in washing, he had scraped 
together a matter of fifty dollars, which was now 
gone— gone at the very moment when it was most 
needed, when death was about to close a long and 
tedious illness, during which the family had been 
kept on the very shortest allowance of food, in 
order to provide medical attendance and the little 
comforts required for the sick, without drawing on 
the precious hoard in the Bank. It was the dying 
husband’s constant injunction to his wife to keep 


emigrant life in the nkw world. 285 

\hat together as long as she could. “ You’ll want 
it all by and by,” he would say, “ when you come 
to bury me. It’s not much, but still it’s better than 
nothing.” Now the trying time was at hand — the 
funeral expenses were coming on — a trifle, too, to 
be paid to the doctor, and the fifty dollars — the sole 
hope of the family — was lost forever. Oh ! the 
misery of that hour ! But the prudent wife kept 
the terrible secret — she knew it would, in all pro- 
bability, have been instant death to her husband to 
hear that she was left penniless at such a time, and 
so he died in blissful ignorance, commending his 
family to the protection of God and the Blessed 
Virgin, and as the heart-broken widow closed his 
sunken eyes, she breathed her fervent thanks to 
God that poor Jerry died without that heavy blow. 
“ He had enough to bear without it,” said she, 
“ may the Lord be good and merciful to his soul I” 
She had no time for indulging the grief which filled 
her heart, for she had to consider about getting her 
husband decently buried. How was it to be done, 
for she hadn’t quite a dollar in the house ? But 
something must be done; so she went to a few of 
her wealthiest acquaintances, told them her mourn- 
ful story, and asked them to advance the sum which 
she required on sundry little articles of her house- 
hold furniture. This they all refused, chiding her 
for thinking of any such thing, but they went to 
work, two or three of them, and made up what 
buried Jerry decently, and left a surplus of some 


286 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


dollars iu ttie poor widow’s hands. Many a curse 
was heaped that day on the heads of the Bank Di- 
rectors as the story flew from mouth to mouth. 

This was but one of the many distressing scenes 
which resulted then and afterwards from this atro- 
cious robbery, and what wonder was it that the 
whole city rang with clamorous complaints and 
vehement appeals for justice? But vain were cries, 
and prayers, and tears. The money was not to be 
had — the Directors would hardly condescend to 
show how it W'ent, or what prospect there was of 
any portion of it being refunded, and after a while 
the public mind forgot all about it in the excitement 
of some new topic. But long, long was it remem- 
bered by those to whom it brought ruin, in many 
cases destitution. Many an aching heart and many 
a cheerless home recorded the event for years to 
come, while the hypocrites who had thus taken 
from the fatherless and the widow, and squandered 
the hard earnings of the poor, ascended higher and 
higher on the social ladder, untroubled wdth any 
qualms of conscience, and quite willing to take 
charge of other Savings Banks, provided they could 
“ get appointed.” 

There w'as, then, no chance of Peter Whelan re- 
covering anything from the Bank, so that he was 
forced to give up the notion of emigrating. But 
ril not give it up altogether,” said he to Andy 
Dwyer, a week or two before the time fixed for Con 
and the Bergens to start ; “ oh no ! I’ll always have 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE y i!W WORLD. 281 

the hope in my mind that Qod will one day give mo 
the means of going. If wo get anything from that 
villainous Bank, well and good, but if we don’t, sure 
Mary and myself must only begin the world again, 
and if the Lord spares us our health, maybe wo 
won t be off in search of land — maybe we won’t I” 

“ I suppose you’ll hardly put any more money in 
Savings Banks, anyhow,” observed Andy, with a 
quiet smile. “ A burnt child dreads the fire, they 
say.’’ 

Is it me ?” cried Peter, “me put money again in 
one of them blackguard nests of robbery ! Ah ! if 
they never get anybody’s cash into their clutches till 
they get mine, they may live to the a-ge of Mathuse- 
lem. If I ever get a little scraped together again, 
I’d soonei* throw it in the fire than invest it in Banks 
— invest, indeed !^to the devil I pitch such invest- 
ments ! But, after all, it’s a folly to talk. I’ll only 
have to look sharp for the time to come.” 

Meanwhile Paul Bergen and his wife had duly re- 
ceived the long-looked*for letter from Felix, contain- 
ing a draft on one of the City Banks for one hun- 
dred and fifty dollars. “I would have sent you 
more,” said Felix, in the letter, “ but that Judy and 
myself thought it best only to send what would just 
be enough to take you all out. You’ll find all things 
provided here when you come — at least, you’ll have 
your farm ready for the spade and the plough, and 
our house will be yours till you can get one up for 
yourself. Judy and me are ever so glad to hear of the 


S88 


CON o’rEGAN • OR, 

fine family you have, may the Lord spare them all to 
be a comfort to you in your old days ! They’ll havo 
a good chance out here. We’re all well pleased that 
there’s some more coming with you. There’s room 
enough here and to spare, and you know the old 
saying, ‘ The more the merrier.’ You want to know 
if we have a priest living here, and I wish I could 
say ‘ Yes.’ As yet we have only Mass once in every 
two weeks or so, when a priest from the next mis- 
sion comes here. We have a little Church that we 
put up a couple of years ago, and when we get able 
to raise a better and larger one, this will do us for a 
schoolhouse. As yet we have no schoolmaster, but 
Father Doran says he has one in view for us, if he 
can only find him out in time. He’s going to adver- 
tise him in the papers, for he knows he’s somewhere 
in the New England States. This will be good 
news for you that has a family growing up. When 
we have a good priest and a good schoolmaster, we’ll 
have all we want. Make haste now, all of you. Bo 
alive, and have your wits about you on the road, and 
don’t let the sharks get the better of you.” Felix 
then went on to give the necessary instructions as 
to the route to be taken and other matters of that 
kind. Felix- was a travelled man, and prided him- 
self no little on his practical knowledge of the 
country. 

All was now joyous bustle in the house of Paul 
Bergen. Nora began to hold up her head already in 
an independent manner, as became the wife of a 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 289 

landed proprietor — that was to be. There were fifty 
things to be bought and got ready for the journey, 
and amongst the rest there were pairs upon pairs of 
socks and stockings to be knitted. This was a job 
for Peggy Daly, whom Winny introduced to Mrs. 
Bergen for that purpose. During the frequent in- 
tercourse that grew out of this connection, the warMi- 
hearted Nora became strongly attached to the blind 
girl, and was often heard to say that “ she’d give 
anythi-ng at all to have her with her.” Even to 
Peggy herself this kindly wish was not seldom ex- 
pressed, but Peggy would only smile and say : ‘‘ It’s 
not my luck, Mrs. Bergen, dear ! I must stay where 
I am, unless God brings about some great change.” 

“ Well, dear, I’m sorry for it. Indeed I am,” said 
Nora, “ but,” she added, on one occasion, “ of coorse, 
it’s natural for you to stick by your own. It ’id be 
a lonesome thing for you to part with all the sister 
you have.” 

“ It would,” said Peggy, “ but still I could do it if 
it was the wiU of God. I’d leave her an’ hers in His 
holy keepin’. But to tell you the truth, Mrs. Ber- 
gen,” — she hesitated, and her changing dolor plainly 
denoted the struggle going on within. Her little 
fingers played unconsciously, as it were, with the 
fringe of her coarse woollen shawl, and her eyelids 
drooped as though the orbs they covered could have 
betrayed her emotion. 

“ What w^ere you goin’ to shy, alanna at length 


190 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


was, ma’am.” The fingers moved faster ye 
and more tremulously, and the color on the soft 
cheek deepened to a carnation hue. “ There’s 
another person, Mrs. Bergen ! a friend of ours that’s 
taken up entirely with bad company, an’ I’m afeard 
he’d go to the mischief altogether if there wasn’t 
somebody to give him a good advice an’ look after 
him now an’ then. He’s mighty foolish for himself, 
Mrs. Bergen ! but he has a good heart — indeed he 
has, ma’am, an’ somehow he listens to a word from 
me when he wouldn’t listen to any one else. Him 
an’ me were to have been married onst, but it plased 
the Lord to take the sight from me, and from that 
out I made up my mind never to marry him or any 
one else.” 

Mrs. Bergen could hardly speak. The tears stood 
in her eyes, and taking hold of Peggy’s hand, she 
squeezed it hard between her own. “ Poor young 
erature,” she at length murmured, “ you have a hard 
cross to bear.” 

“ Oh ! not so heavy after all !” said Peggy, with 
somewhat more cheerfulness, encouraged by the 
tender sympathy of the other. “ If I have my trials, 
I have my comforts, too. Sometimes I get poor 
Tom to keep from drink for weeks at a time, an’ 
now and then I get him to go to an early Mass. 
Well ! there’s no knowin’, ma’am, what that may save 
him from, for you know there’s nothing draws down 
such a curse on man or mortal' as neglectin’ to hear 
Mass on Sunday. So you see, dark an’ all as I am, 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


29 1 


I can do some good, an’ that itself is a great com- 
fort to me.” 

“ Well ! the Lord bless you, anyhow, poor girl !” 
said Mrs. Bergen, warmly, as she shook Peggy’s 
hand. Peggy returned the pressure and the bless- 
ing, then she called her young guide and told him to 
take her home now. 



m 


cos o’reoam : 


CHAPTER XVII. 

The few remaining weeks past away all too quick- 
ly, — at least so Winny thought, — and the eve of the 
day fixed on for “ the start” at length arrived. Paul 
Bergen had sold off his effects to better advantage 
than he expected, and as he and Hora stood towards 
evening on the door of their late subterraneous 
dwelling and surveyed its naked walls now seen in 
the extreme narrowness of their dimensions, a sim- 
ultaneous feeling of gratitude swelled their hearts as 
they thought of the broad open prairie which Felix 
had described as the location of their new homo. 

“Aren’t we blest and happy, Nora dear,” re- 
marked Paul, “ to get away out into the open coun- 
try again ? — sure enough it was a poor place this to 
live in — shut up between these four walls, down ever 
so far under the ground ! I tell you it was well for 
us that Felix made his way out where he did, or it’s 
what we’d have to live and die, and bring up the 
children here where neither sun nor air got in to us.’^ 

“True for you, Paul,” returned Nora, thought- 
fully, “ we have every reason to hold up our hands 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NSW WORLD. 


293 


End thank God, when we think of the thousands and 
thousands in this very city that can’t budge from 
where they are, but must take everything as it 
comes. But aren’t we goin’ where I was saying, 
Paul?” 

Paul willingly assented, and both glancing round 
to see that nothing was left behind, they hastily 
quitted the cellar, Paul locking the door with the in- 
tention of giving up the key to “ the landlord,” who 
lived in one of the upper stories of the same house. 
He and Hora then walked away at a quick pace in 
an opposite direction. Their children were all safely 
housed in Andy Dwyer’s snug kitchen, Andy and 
his good partner having kindly insisted on their all 
making that their home after “ the auction” till such 
times as they’d be ready to start.” 

Con O’Regan, too, had to take his luggage there, 
for as the whole party was to set out before daylight 
in the morning, Andy would have it that there was 
no use in disturbing two houses. And besides, he 
said, “ I want you all to start from here — that's the 
plain truth, if you must have it. It may be the last 
night we’ll ever spend together, and we have a thou- 
sa-ad things to talk about. So, Cornelius, get your 
box down here as fast as you can, and, Alice dear, 
see that you have something nice and comfortable 
for supper.” Mrs. Dwyer answered that she’d do 
what she could, and Con, fully appreciating Andy’s 
kindness, declared himself quite willing to accept the 
invitation. 


m 


CON O^KEGAN ; OR, 

The only thing is,” said he, “ that Winny won’t 
know where to find me.” 

“ Oh! never you m«ind that,” was Andy’s prompt 
reply, “ we’ll see that she does know, and I think I 
may undertake to promise that you’ll find her hero 
when you come back. Be off now, as fast as ever 
you can I” 

“ I will, then,” said Con, ‘‘ for I have to go and 
see Mr. Coulter. I want to bid him farewell.” So 
saying, Con hurried away, his mind full of conflict- 
ing emotions. When he returned he found Winny 
before him just as Andy had predicted. 

“ Why, Winny dear,” said her brother, “ I hardly 
expected to see you here. I was thinkin’ I’d have 
to go up to the house.” 

“ See mCj indeed !” repeated Winny, with her sad 
smile ; “ I can tell you you were near seeing Letty, 
too. She wanted to come right or wrong, only by 
good luck I got her persuaded that it wouldn’t be 
right for us both to leave the house at once, for fear 
the ladies might be wanting something.” 

“ The Lord be praised 1” said Con, fervently, 

she’s a good creature in her own way, but her ab- 
sence is a cordial at the present time. She’d pester 
the life out of us with her good-natured talk.” 

Andy now inquired if Con had seen Mr. Coulter, 
and was answered with a sorrowful shake of the 
head. 

“ Is it possible that you didn’t see him f” cried 
Winny. 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


295 


“ Indeed it is, Winny dear. I waited an’ waited 
Bs' good as an hour, an’ couldn’t get my eyes on him, 
nor none of them could tell me where he was. 
What’ll I do at all, Winny, if I don’t get seein’ him 
before I go?” 

“ See him before you go !” cried Winny, in amaze- 
ment ; “ why, you can’t go witJiout seeing him. 
That’s all. You’ll just have to go to the house this 
evening about eight o’clock or so, and then you’ll be 
sure to find him.” 

Just then Paul Bergen and Nora came in, and 
Mrs. Dwyer was about to ask where they had been, 
when her husband checked her by a look, and so, 
too, did Winny, who laid her hand impressively on 
the good woman’s arm, and pointed to the swollen 
eyes and dejected features of both. 

“ Don’t you see,” said Andy, when he got an op- 
portunity, “ don’t you see by their faces, woman 
dear ! that they’ve been paying a last visit to their 
poor boy’s grave ?” 

“Ah! then, sure enough, but that’s where they 
were I — wasn’t I blind not to see it? But then my 
head was rannin’ on these cakes I have in the oven. 
They’re not risin’ as well as I’d wish.” And good 
Mrs Dwyer, opening the oven door, was once more 
lost in her fears and hopes concerning the interest- 
ing edibles on which she had spared neither trouble 
nor expense. “ Botheration to them for cakes !” 
said she to herself, “ I’ll go bail it’s what they’ll go 
again me, now when a body would wish to have 


296 


CON o’REGAN ; OR; 


them the very best. Well! well I” she philosophi- 
cally added, “ sure isn’t it the way of the world ? 
It’s ever an’ always when we want to have a thing 
right, that it’ll be sure to go wrong !” 

Although Mrs. Dwyer was so dissatisfied with the 
result of her culinary labors, the cakes were pro- 
nounced excellent by all who had the rare pleasure 
of tasting them, and, on the whole, the supper passed 
off very creditably to her and very agreeably to her 
guests. “The cup that cheers, but not inebriates,” 
went freely round, and inspired by its fragrant 
aroma, the women were all in high spirits, and chat- 
ted away pleasantly, while the men talked over the 
great business in hand. Andy was rather more ora- 
cular than usual, interlarding his discourse with some 
half dozen Latin proverbs, to the great edification 
and instruction of his less learned friends. Above 
all things he begged of Con and Paul to send him 
back word from time to time touching the true state 
of the country. 

“ It might please God,” he said, “that I’d have the 
means of going after you, some time or another, and, 
as I wouldn’t wish to do anything rash, I’d like to 
know exactly what kind of a place it is. I’ll depend 
on you both to give me a full and true account.” 

The required promise was cheerfully given, and 
Andy had only time to nod his head and say, “ very 
good ! — that will do !” when the door opened and 
give admission to the whole household of Barney 
Brady, from Barney himself down to little Betsey, 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 29T 

i 

whom he carried in his arms. Tom Derragh and 
Peggy brought up the rear, the latter holding 
Johnny by the hand. The boy was so accustomed to 
lead his aunt that he would not forego that privilege, 
although the office was a sinecure on that occasion, 
thanks to the brawny arm which supported Peggy 
on the other side. The new arrivals were hailed 
with a burst of joyous welcome, and the two children 
were speedily conveyed into a corner by Janie and 
Patsey Bergen. This move elicited an approving 
nod from Barney. 

“ That’s right, Janie,” said he, “ we just took them 
with us that you’d be all together this last night. 
An’ besides,” he added, looking round to the elders, 

if we hadn’t brought them along, somebody must 
have staid with them, and that would never do, for 
Anty wanted to come, and Peggy wanted to come, 
and myself and Tom are only poor hands at nursing, 
you may be sure, so we wouldn’t stay behind, and 
here we are, you see — bag and baggage, as the say- 
ing is.” 

“And you’re all heartily welcome,” said Mrs. 
Dwyer ; “ sit over here to the table and have a cup 
of tea.” 

This offer was declined, for they had all “just got 
up from the table as they came out, so they had no 
occasion in life.” The supper was then quickly dis- 
patched, and the relics of the feast being duly clear- 
ed away, conversation, or rather chat, went on with 
renewed animation. Winny and Con were seated 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


SS3 

together in a corner of the kitchen arranging their 
little plans for the uncertain period of time which 
was to elapse before they met again. Many things 
were still to be talked over, but Winny suddenly 
stopped and reminded her brother that he had bet- 
ter go off at once to Mr. Coulter’s, before it got any 
later. “ Ah ! then, sure enough, Wi'nny, it’s time I 
wasn’t here,” observed Con, rising and reaching for 
his hat, at the same time informing Andy of where 
he was going. 

“ Ob, well ! you mustn’t go alone,” said Andy, ri's- 
ing, too ; “ we’ll not be long away, Bernard, so I’ll 
leave you all to entertain each other for a little 
while.” 

Con protested against Andy’s going with him, but 
it was no use, go Andy would, and they both reach- 
ed the door, when a gentle tap was heard on the out- 
side, and the door being opened, in walked Mr. 
Coulter himself, his honest, cheerful face all in a 
glow after his long walk in the cool, fresh air of the 
spring evening. 

‘‘ Where are you bound for. Con ?” was his first 
salutation, as the young man stepped back respect* 
fully to make way for him. 

“ Indeed, then, I was just goin’ down to your 
house, sir, as I couldn’t see you all day.” 

“Well! you see I have saved you that trouble. 
I heard you had been wanting to see me, and 1 
thought you might hardly find time to call again.” 
This was said with a smile, for Mr. Coulter knew 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 29^ 

*^ery well that Con would have found time, Glano* 
:ng his quick eye round, the old gentleman was not 
slow in perceiving Winny, who had stood up at his 
entrance, as did all the others. Nodding kindly to 
Winny, Mr. Coulter said, with the suavity of a true 
gentleman : 

“Sit down, my good people, sit down! Pray 
don’t disturb yourselves on my account.” 

The seats being all resumed, and the children 
thrust away into holes and corners, “for fear of an- 
noying the gentleman,” Mr. Coulter turned once 
more to Con : “ And so. Con, you propose to start 
in the morning, don’t you?” 

“ With God’s help, I do, sir, thanks to you and 
the ladies.” 

“ To me and the ladies. Con I” repeated Mr. Coul- 
ter, facetiously ; “ oh ! if the ladies have a hand in 
your undertaking there is no fear of its failure. 
The ladies have unlimited power in this world of 
ours. We have heard of all power being given to 
certain parties in times past, but I think there must 
be some mistake in the record, though it he the 
Bible. It is certainly the ladies who have ‘ all 
power’ now-a-days — at least, if they have not, I 
know not who has.” 

The irreverence of this speech was overlooked 
by the company, who had far too much respect for 
the speaker to criticize his words even in thought. 
Andy alone took upon him to reply : 

“ By dad, sir, they have made a great stir in the 


800 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


world ever since it was a world. From down 
to Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, that turned the head 
of the renowned Mark Antony, and >fom her to 
Queen Elizabeth, the pet daughter of Harry the 
Eighth, and a great pillar of the Reformation, the 
ladies have played the mischief with the poor nouns 
masculine. Helen of Troy rvised a dust that didn’t 
settle again for ten long \ears, and in Ireland we 
had a sister of hers, V v name Dervorghal, who 
wasn’t a bit better thv*^ Me should be, the thief of 
the world.” 

Andy paused from sheer want of breath, and 
Mr. Coulter politely assented, regarding his new 
acquaintance with some degree of interest as a 
specimen of original character. 

“ You are quite right, Mr. said he, hesitat- 
ing; “ Mr. , ah! — excuse me — I have forgotten 

your name.” 

“ My name is Dwyer, sir, at your service ! — An- 
drew Dwyer !” and Andy bowed very low, by way 
of showing his manners. The name was all that 
Mr. Coulter wanted, as he meant to cultivate Andy’s 
acquaintance a little farther. 

“ And so this is a farewell party,” observed Mr 
Coulter, glancing once more over the company ; 
“ are all these friends of yours bound for the West, 
Con ?” 

“ Oh no, sir, there’s only myself and Paul Bergen 
and his family,” pointing them out in succession , 
“ none of the others are able to go, though it isn't 


iCHIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 301 

their hearts would hinder them, if they had the 
means.” 

“ Indeed !” said the old gentleman, thoughtfully ; 
“ why, I think you told me there were several fami- 
lies to go with you.” 

“Well! so we thought then, sir, but when all 
cam-o to all there could none of them go except us. 
There was Peter Whelan thought he had nothing 
to do but ‘ bundle and go,’ but the Savings Bank 
settled Jdm^ and left him that he couldn’t go any- 
where at the present time. Then there was Philip 
Quigley had a little money by him, and thought as 
he was a lone man, it would be enough to take him, 
and, what do you think, Mr. Coulter, but a couple 
of nights ago, the house he boarded in took fire, and 
poor Philip lost every cent he had. Another man 
took sick some weeks ago, and had to go to hospi- 
tal, and between his own little expenses there and 
the support of his family, there’s a big hole made in 
the money. So that’s the way of it, sir, and a poor 
way it is, too.” 

“ And this fine young fellow here ?” inquired Mr. 
Coulter, pointing to Tom Derragh. “ Is not he 
going?” 

Con only smiled and shook his head, but Tom 
bluntly answered: “No, sir, I a’nt a-going. I’m 
sorry for it, but it can’t be helped. People can’t 
fiy to the West or anywhere else, I reckon.” 

Certainly not, young man, a little money is re- 
quired for that, like most other things; but surely 


302 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


you ought to have tome money. How long have 
you been in this country ?” 

“Ten years or so,” was the dogged reply. 

“ Ten years !” repeated Mr. Coulter, in a tone of 
surprise. “And you have no family, have you?” 

“ Well no — I ha’nt — but to tell you the truth, sir, 
I never could get money to stick to me. It w^nt 
as fast as it came. I was always a graceless lubber, 
good for nothing but spending money. Drunk and 
sober — drunk and sober — that’s the way it is with 
me, and so it’ll be to the end of the chapter. So 
there’s an end of it.” 

Peggy could not stand this. Forgetful for a mo- 
ment of the respected presence of that kind Mr. 
Coulter, of whom she had heard so much, the poor 
girl could not allow Tom to blacken his own repu- 
tation in that way. She could abuse him herself at 
times, but she could never hear him abused by ano- 
ther without taking up his defence warmly. 

“Ah! then, never mind him, sir,” she cried in a 
vehement tone, “ he’s not half so bad as he’d make 
himself out. Indeed he’s not, sir. Many a good 
dollar of his earnin’ goes in charity, an’ 1 know he 
gave as good as a hundred dollars to doctors, one 
way an’ another, tryin’ to get somebody cured of 
what’s never to be cured in this world. He’s a little 
wild, now an’ then, sir, but he works hard when 
he’s at his work, an’ nobody could ever say that he 
spent what wasn’t his own.” 

Poor Peggy’s burst of excitement was now over 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 30S 

and she felt as though she could sink into the 
ground as she thought of who it was that she had 
been addressing, and addressing, too, on behalf of 
Tom Derragh. Tears of shame and vexation filled 
her sightless eyes, and she drew back instinctively 
from the table, as though that move could screen 
her from observation. Tom would have taken her 
hand, but she drew it away with a muttered “let 
me alone, will you?” As for Mr. Coulter, he sat 
looking at the mobile and most expressive features 
of the blind girl with mingled pity and admiration. 
He saw her truly feminine distress and was far too 
delicate to increase it by even a word. Turning to 
Con, he renewed his conversation with him, as 
though nothing had happened to break in upon it, 
although ho still cast an occasional glance on 
Peggy, who sat silent and pensive a little behind 
the others. 

“Do you expect to be located near your friend 
Bergen here ?” said Mr. Coulter to Con. 

“Well, I hope so, sir! His brother Felix — that’s 
him that sent for him — has taken it in hands to get 
land for me, too, so it’s likely he’ll try and get it all 
together, if he can at all.” 

“ What family has Paul Bergen?” 

“ He has only four children now, sir. He had 
another fine boy as you’d see in a day’s walkin’, but 
he was killed in the forepart of the winter by an 
unlucky blow of a stone from another little fellow 
about his own age.” 


304 


CON o’kegan ; OR, 


« Dreadful! dreadful!” said Mr. Coulter; “what 
an overwhelming shock that must have been to the 
poor parents I” 

“Well! it was, sir!” said Paul, who had over- 
heard what passed ; “ it was a great heart-break en- 
tirely, but, of course, we had to get over it the best 
way we could. There was no use flyin* in the face 
of God about that or anything else. It was His will, 
or it wouldn't come across us.” 

Mr. Coulter said it was very tru?, but in his heart 
he wondered at the strong faith which sustained 
these poor people in all trials, even the heaviest and 
most afEicting. 

“ If Peter had only died a natural death, sir,” said 
Nora, breaking silence for the first time, “I think we 
wouldn’t have grieved as we did after him, for there’s 
no knowin’ what was before him if he had lived. 
Maybe it’s what God was good to us in takin’ him 
when he did, though, God kelp us ! we couldn't think 
so at the time. Patsey! you villain! what’s that 
you’re doin’ ?” Her quick eye had detected thjQ 
elder hope of her house in the stealthy abstraction 
of some choice morsel from Mrs. Dwyer's cup- 
board. 

A general laugh followed, in the midst of which 
Patsey squatted on his seat and slily closed the cup- 
board, looking as innocent and demure as though 
nothing had happened. His mother, unwilling to 
disturb the company, especially as Mr. Coulter was 
present, contented herself with shaking her fist at the 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN TAJS NEW WORLD. 


305 


culprit, Tvlio thereupon looked very sullen and very 
indignant. 

“I perceive that boy has a will of his own,” ob- 
served Mr. Coulter. 

“ Ah, then, faix, he has so, sir,” said the father, half 
proudly, half excusingly; “he’s been amongst Yan- 
kee children so long that he begins to- think himself 
a man already.” Here a look from !l7ora reminded 
Paul that he had made a great blunder. He colored 
deeply, coughed once or twice, and cleared his throat 
vigorously. “I meant to say, sir,” he began, “that 
poor Patsey has got some Yankee notions of inde- 
pendence into his head, and thinks himself as good 
any day he rises as his Irish father or mother. That’s 
not the way in the old country, sir ! The father is 
the master there as long as he lives, and the mother, 
too, for that matter.” 

Mr. Coulter laughed good humoredly. “ I know,’’ 
said he, “that you Irish have a high notion of 
parental authority, but don’t you think you stretch 
it too far at times ? Are you not too hard on the 
youngsters now and then?” 

“ Oh ! begorra, we’re not, sir !” said Paul, in a very 
decided tone; “if we don’t keep them down when 
they’re weak an’ young, they’ll keep ^is down when 
they’re big an’ strong, an’ us feeble an’ old. Oh, be- 
dad, Mr. Coulter, there’s nothing like the rod if you 
want to make good children an’ have them grow up 
good men an’ women.” 


806 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


“Yes,” said Andy, “ there’s no going beyond that, 
for the Holy Ghost tells us the same thing.” 

“ The Holy Ghost !” repeated Mr. Coulter, in un- 
qualified amazement ; “ were you ever talking to him, 
friend ?” 

“ Oh ! of course I wasn’t, sir, but He says it in the 
Scripture, and that’s all the same you know: ‘He 
that hateth his child spareth the rod.’ At home in 
Ireland, sir ” 

Mr. Coulter stopped him short with “What do 
you know of the Scriptures at home in Ireland ?” 

“ Oh ! as to that,” said Andy, with his grave smile, 
“ it’s not the fashion there to talk of it much — that’s 
of the Scripture — but the people are taught to act 
on it. That’s what makes all the difference between 
us and our neighbors, that they have it forever on 
their lips, but we have it in our hearts. And good 
reason why we should, for don’t we hear it read and 
explained to us from our infancy up !” 

“ Humph !’ said Mr. Coulter, “ that’s something 
new to me.” 

“ That may be, sir, for it’s new to many a one in 
these parts, but it’s nothing new to us. I*d back 
old Father Hennessy, the Lord be good to him ! — « 
that was our old parish priest, sir, when I was a slip 
of a boy — again any preacher in this city for ex- 
pounding the sacred text, and more shame for him 
if he hadn’t it all at his finger-ends — that’s the Bible, 
sir — when he was Professor of Scripture for as good 
as nine years in the Irish College in Paris. It was 


EMIGRiNT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 80T 

from him I learned most of what I know/^ continued 
Andy, with deep feeling, “and especially what little 
Scripture I have. May the Lord clothe his soul in 
glory this night, for he was like a father to me, and 
It wasn’t his fault but that I’m a priest myself at this 
present hour.” 

The pious aspiration dictated by Andy’s gratitude 
was fervently responded to by a simultaneous 
“ Amen !” from all present, with the exception of 
Mr. Coulter, who respected the feeling which he 
could not understand. After a momentary silence, 
he abruptly said “ good night !” and kindly shaking 
hands with Winny, then with Paul and his wife, to 
whom he wished a safe and pleasant journey, he re- 
quested Con to go with him a little way on his return 
home, as he wanted to speak to him in private. 
Con was on his feet in an instant, hat in hand. 

“ Good night, Mr. Dwyer,” said the kind old gen- 
tleman, turning to that important personage ; “ as 
you are not leaving the city just now we shall meet 
again — at least I hope so.” 

When they had got a little way from the house, 
Mr. Coulter asked Con who and what the blind girl 
was, and how she was connected with that wild, dis- 
sipated-looking young man, in whom she seemed to 
take such interest. 

Having heard all that Con knew on the subject, 
Mr. Coulter remarked that there was something 
past the common in that girl, and that it was a 
great pity to see her so wrapped up in a fellow who 


308 CON o’regan ; or, 

could hardly understand the value of such a heari 
as hers. 

“ Well ! I don’t know as to that, sir,” observed 
Con ; “ poor Tom seems to think a power of Peggy, 
and they say her word is law with him. They’d be 
married long ago only that Peggy won’t trust him 
on account of the drink. And no wonder she 
wouldn’t, for he’s hardly ever a week at a time to 
say right sober.” 

“ Has the girl been always blind ?” 

“ Oh dear, no, sir ! I have it from her own bro- 
ther-in-law, that Barney Brady that you saw there 
to-night, that it was mindin’ Tom in a long sickness 
he had in his house, that she got the cold that settled 
in her eyes and took the sight from her. She was a ' 
clean, likely little girl before that as you’d wish to 
see — so they tell me.” 

“ I can well believe that,” said Mr. Coulter, “ for 
even now she is remarkably pretty. What a touch- 
ing page of lowly life,” he thought, “is here opened 
to our view ! Truly has it been said that truth is 
stranger than fiction. But what a people are these 
Irish! — how inadequate are others to judge them 
or to form an estimate of the deep and earnest feel- 
ings which lie hidden in their hearts, often beneath 
a rough, unpromising exterior !” 

“Do you know,” he said to Con, “if they have 
ever taken this poor girl to any oculist ? — has there 
ever been any attempt made to restore her sight ?” 

“ Well! I b’lieve there was, sir ! Tom laid out a 


KiIigrant life in the new world. 80 'i 

power o’ money, they tell me, try in’ to get her cured 
but it seems it was all no use.” 

No more was said on the subject, for just then 
Mr. Coulter insisted on Con’s turning back. You 
have to start very early,” said he, “ and the sooner 
you are in bed all the better. I have already given 
you all the advice in my power, and have now only 
to wish you that prosperity in your new undertaking 
which your good conduct and steady industry so well 
deserve. As for Winny, you need have no fears 
about her. My sisters take a deep interest in her 
welfare, and she will have a good home with them 
till you are enabled to send for her with the rest of 
your family. Farewell 1 if we should never meet 
again, you will remember old Sam Coulter as one 
who wished you well.” There was a husky tone in 
his voice that betrayed more emotion than he chose 
to manifest in words. Shaking Con’s hand warmly 
and again, he was moving rapidly away, but Con 
hurried after him. 

“ So you’re goin’, sir,” he got out with no small 
difficulty, “ an not a word of the money ! You 
never asked me when or how I’d pay it to the 
ladies, nor neither did themselves, when I went to 
bid them farewell, may the Lord in Heaven bless 
them and you now and for evermore I” 

“ Neither my sisters no.r myself thought it neces- 
sary to exact any promises from you. Con !” said 
Mr. Coulter, without turning his head, “ we know 
your honesty too well for that. Send it back when 


810 


COK o’uEGAN ; OR, 


you can, and according as you are able, but be suri» 
don’t distress yourself, my poor fellow ! trying to 
send all or any part of it too soon. My sisters are 
in no need of the money, and so they requested me 
to tell you.” So saying he quickened his pace once 
more, and Con seeing that he desired no further 
parley, stood looking after him till he was out of 
sight, murmuring prayers for him and his. When 
he could no longer see him he turned his steps 
towards his present home, with a heavy though 
hopeful heart. 

As Mr. Coulter followed his homeward way, thinks 
ing of the humble friend with whom he had parted 
perhaps forever, he was accosted by a sturdy beg- 
gar, who solicited charity in the richest brogue of 
southern Ireland, At another time Mr. Coulter 
would have conscientiously refused to give a solitary 
cent, telling the able-bodied applicant to go to work, 
but now with his heart full of the O’Regan’s, and 
Peggy Daly, and Tom Dorragh, and the harmless 
pedantry of Andy Dwyer, he was in no mood for re- 
fusing a dole to one of their countrymen. So he 
threw the man a quarter and walked on. Had he 
v.^itnessed the surprise with which the glittering silver 
piece was picked up, and the fervor of gratitude with 
which a prayer for him was sent up to heaven — above 
all, had he heard the thrilling tone in which the poor 
man muttered “Now, Kitty, honey. I’ve got the 
price of the big loaf for you an’ the children,” he 
would have gone after the apparent beggar and 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEI^ WORLD. 31 ^ 

doubled big gift. Little did the warm-hearted mer- 
chant think that the poor fellow had been vainly 
looking for work all the long day, and had only so. 
licited charity when all else failed, in order to bring 
home sustenance for his siek wife and her famishing 
^Idren. 



£19 


CON o’regak ; ©Pj 


CHAPTER XVIir. 

Pass we now over the tearful separation of Con 
and Winny, the friendly admonkions of Andy 
Dwyer, the ciVrepeated good wishes of his less 
imposing helpmate, and the promises exacted by 
those left behind that their friends would be sure 
to let them “know er.aotly T/hat kind of a place it 
was that they were going to zs coon as ever they 
got themselves settled.” All this may be easily 
imagined, as also the flash of laudable ambition 
momentarily elicited in Tom Derragh’s mind. 
“Weill” said he, “I know I’m a good-for-nothing 
fellow — that’s plain — if I weren’t I might be able to 
start with the rest of you, and give Barney a lift 
that would help him away, too — I know there a’nt 
nothing would please poor Peggy so well, for she 
never took to this here way of life we’re in ” 

“No, nor never will!” interrupted Peggy, with 
startling energy. 

“Well! I know it, Peggy, I do, and you’ll see 
if I don’t set about trying to take you out of it. 
What do you all laugh at? — a’nt I young and strong 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 31S 

“Oh! to be sure,” said Peggy, with her usual 
coolness of manner, “ we all know that — an’ you 
were young an’ strong ever since you came here. 
Sure I know myself you’ll turn your back on the 
taverns for the time to come, an’ give up dances 
and raffles an’ all such things, an’ you’ll be off to 
the West in no time at all with lots of money in 
one pocket an’ me in the other.” The laugh which 
followed was gall and wormwood to Tom, who left 
the place “ in a pet,” as Anty said, after a silent 
shake hands with Con and each of the Bergens, se- 
nior and junior. 

Let the reader draw upon his imagination for the 
long and tedious journey, (in those days principally 
by canal,) the surprise and delight with which our 
travellers first beheld the broad prairies of the 
West, stretching far and away to meet the bound- 
less horizon, and dotted here and there with patches 
of woodland whose gigantic timber was matter of 
c-easeless wonder. Paul had written to his brother 
from Chicago, letting him know what day he might 
expect them all, and so the first person he saw at 
the office-door in Dubuque was Felix himself, who 
had come with two of his neighbors, each provided 
with a horse and wagon to convey the travellers 
home. 

“Home!” repeated Paul, wbh a melancholy shake 
of the head which made Felix laugh. 

“ Home ! yes, to be sure,” said he, “ isn’t my 
home yours till you get one of your own? And 


014 CON o’regan ; or, 

this decent boy, too,” meaning Con, ^‘he’s just as 
welcome as you are, an’ I’m sure that’s as much as 
I could say. And so this is Nora, and these are 
the children — well ! thanks be to God that I lived 
to see you all in Dubuque. You’re welcome here, 
every one of you, and may the Lord grant you all 
sorts of happiness here and hereafter! Come along 
here, Nora, and take hold of my arm, till I get you 
all something to eat and drink. I’m sure you’re 
a’most worn out after such a long journey. Boys,” 
to his companions, “ will you just go and give the 
horses a bite and then hurry back here, for we’ll be 
starting as soon as we get some refreshment.” 

Thus bustling and talking Felix took the travel- 
lers to an eating-house, where he ordered a good 
substantial dinner for the whole party, and whilst it 
was being prepared, he had asked at least a hundred 
questions about “ home” and about affairs in the 
East, which seemed to have made quite a noise in 
that part of the world. “ Them natives,” said he, 
^ “ are playing the mischief there. It’s a wonder to 
me that any Irishman — if he’s a Catholic — would 
live amongst such a set. For my part, I’d sooner 
transport myself to Botany Bay. I wouldn’t put 
up with such doings as they get on with — no, not 
on any account — so long as I had the means of get- 
ting away from amongst them.” 

By this time Thady Landrigan and Pat Mullins 
had returned and the dinner was soon after placed 
on the table. This was a welcome sight to all par- 


EMIGRANT JAFE IN THE NEAf WORLD. 315 

ties, but especially to the children, whose appetites 
were whetted by the keen air and their long ride 
over the prairie in an open stage wagon. There 
was not a happier man in Iowa State that day than 
Felix Bergen, as he dispensed around the comforts 
for which he was to pay. He would glance occa- 
sionally at the brother from whom ho had been so 
long separated as if to make sure that he was actu- 
.ally sitting there within a few feet of him and at 
the same table, then his eye would wander to Nora 
and her blooming progeny, and his joy would break 
out in words. 

“ Bless my soul, but I’m glad to see you all !— 
and so will Judy, too, for many a long look out she 
has had for you this time past. And I declare, 
Paul, you stend it bravely, after all. So does Nora, 
too, indeed, though you’re neither so young nor sc 
rosy — no, nor so light-hearted, neither, Hora, as 
when I seen you last. You were young then, — and 
so was I too !” he added with a sigh; “ well! well ! 
there’s many a change in the world since then, and 
them old times are just like a dream as we look 
back at them. Now here’s Con CTRegan, and he 
was a little fellow for all the world like Patsey 
there when I came out to this country. I was 
thinking and thinking what O’Regans he could be 
of, but since I see him I don’t need to ask. You’re 
a son of Tim O’Regan — him that was called Tim 
Beg — aren’t you. Con?” 

I am, indeed, then,” said Con, speaking with 


316 CON o’ri?gan ; or, 

suppj eased emotion ; that was just my father’s 
name.” 

“ And your mother was Susy O’Connor, of the 
l^'ke side, a daughter of old Cormac ?” 

“ The same !” 

“I knew it,” cried Felix, “I could have sworn 
to you anywhere I’d meet you by reason of the like- 
ness you have to your poor father — God rest his 
soul ! — well ! I owed you a good turn on your 
father’s account, and though I didn’t know at the 
time who you were, I chose you as good a lot of 
land as if I was choosing it for myself. It’s pick 
and choose between yours and Paul’s. But, Lord 
bless me, Thady, isn’t it time we were starting ? — 
run you and Pat and get out the wagons.” 

A few minutes saw them all fairly on the road, 
and after a pleasant r*de •'f some three hours, they 
reached the snug homestead of Felix Bergen, where 
they were met wdth a whole concert of joYOU*; gra- 
tulation from dogs of various sizes, even bef^'o 
Judy herself made her appearance, all in a glow witt 
heat and excitement, for she had been cooking most 
of the day. The very personification of cordial wel- 
come was Judv Bergen as she caught Nora in her 
arms, and then each of the children in succession, 
kissing them over and over. 

All was oow joyous bustle. Judy and her two 
rosy handmaids were “ up to the eyes in business,” 
some putting away the luggage, some cooking, and 
all asking numerous questions of Con about “ the old 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


317 


country” from which he was the latest arrival. One 
of the herdboys was sent to apprize the nearest 
neighbors of the great event, and long before night- 
fill several of them “dropt in” to see and welcome 
the new-comers. Thady Landrigan and Pat Mul- 
lins were, of course, kept for the evening, and right 
willing they were to stay. When conversation be- 
gan to flag somewhat, Felix cleared his throat for a 
song to gratify Paul’s often-expressed wish. “You 
used to be a great singer, Felix,” said he, after the 
song was sung, “ an* I see you’re nothing failed yet. 
But that’s a great song entirely — where did you 
happen on it ?” It was Morris’s fine song, “ Life in 
the West.” 

“ Oh ! then, myself could hardly tell you,” said 
his brother ; “ I b’lieve I learned it in some of the 
cities. It*s a sort of a favorite of mine.” 

“I like it well enough myself,’* observed Judy, 
‘-but still and all it’s not one of our own songs. 
Can’t you sing ‘ The Shannon ^ide,’ or ‘ Molly 
Astore,’ or some of them fine old songs that you 
used to sing at home, Felix, dear ?” 

“Oh bother to you, Judy,’* cried her husband, 
good-humoredly ; “ between you and Paul,” looking 
affectionately at his brother, “you'd keep me sing- 
ing all night. I vow to goodness but you would. 
Here’s Thady Landrigan hasn’t sung e’er a song yet. 
Come now, Thady ! give us ‘ The Croppy Boy’ — will 
you ?” 

“ Oh bedad I will, then,’* said Thady, “ if it*ll be 


818 


CON o’kegan ; OR, 

the laste pleasure to the company. Bat sure my« 
self has no voice worth speakin’ of. Howsomever 
I’ll try, at any rate. Mrs. Paul Bergen, ma’am, did 
you ever hear ‘ The Croppy Boy ?’ ” 

Nora answered in the affirmative, but expressed 
a longing desire to hear it again, “ for,” said she, “ it 
does my heart good to hear any of the old songs, an’ 
us so far away from where we used to hear them.” 

The song was sung accordingly, and sung with 
great sweetness and its full measure of mournful 
pathos, for Thady did himself injustice when he said 
he had no voice. When the last notes of the plain 
tive melody had died away, Nora wiped her eyes, 
and heaved a sympathetic sigh responsive to the 
touching “ farewell” of the ill-fated hero of the song, 
one of the Wexford insurgents of ’98 : 

“.Farewell, father, and mother, too. 

Sister Mary, I had but you ; 

Across the seas I would freely go. 

To seek a fortune for my Mary 0 !“ 

Even Paul and Con had to clear their throats 
more than once before they ventured to thank Thady 
for his song. “Why, Thady,” said Paul, with the 
familiarity of an old acquaintance, “ if I could only 
sing half as well as you, I’d never be done singin’.” 

“ It’s well he can do that same,” said Pat Mullins, 
who was a cousin of Thady’s, winking slily at Con, 
who was his next neighbor, “ the sorra much else 
he’s good for, the same boy.” 

“Never mind him, Con,” cried Thady, with a 


EMIGRANT LIFE N THE NEW WORLD. 3H 

good-natured laugh, as he bared his sinewy arm and 
held it up for examinaisibn ; “ don’t you think that 
arm ought to be able to do something ? The rap 
knows well enough what I can do, and you and Paul 
will soon know it, too, please God ! for there isn’t an 
Irish settler within ten miles of you but what I have 
given a hand to in my time. Nobody hereabouts 
thinks his house right put together unless Thady 
Landrigan is at the doin’ of it. Only get the logs 
for your houses chopped and ready, an’ I’m the boy 
that’ll put them in their places in less than no time.” 

“ Oh ! well, begorra, Thady,” said the waggish 
Mullins, if a lazy, good-for-nothing fellow like you 
means to have a hand in it, we’ll all do what we can. 
We’ll get Tommy Doyle and Luke Foley and a lot 
of them fellows up in that direction, and here’s Billy 
Cogan will lend a hand, too — won’t you, Billy ?” 
Billy nodded assent, for Billy was a man who spoke 
little and thought much. 

“ Well ! then,” resumed Pat, “ we’ll all come over 
here some day this week — let me see — Felix ! what 
day will be the best for us to come ?” 

“Oh! well, whatever day answers yourselves. 
Judy here will be ready for you any day you come. 
She’ll have you a comfortable bit to eat, you may bo 
sure.” 

“ Well! Pm no great cook, but I’ll do my best,” 
said Judy, with affected modesty, glancing, at the 
same time, with very justifiable pride over the even- 
ing meal wherewith she had just cpread the board; 


820 


CON o’REGAN ; OK, 


“ ni have lots of country cheer for you, and that’s 
all I can promise.” Somehow Judy’s promise ap- 
peared to give general satisfaction. It might be 
that the princely ham, “ red as a cherry,” which 
graced one end of the board, and the dish of new- 
laid eggs, and the mescaun of fresh butter and the 
pitcher of rich cream which flanked the flies of gi- 
gantic tea-cups at the other end, had something to 
do in the cheerful resignation wherewith “ the neigh- 
bors” approved of Mrs. Bergen’s culinary labors, not 
to speak of the huge loaf of good home-made bread 
and the plate of cakes, smoking hot from the oven. 
Certain it is that the day for the great chopping was 
speedily settled on, and it was arranged that men 
enough should be gathered to chop the wood for the 
two hoTises. There was plenty of timber, Felix 
said, on both farms, but there was also a large pro- 
portion of level prai&ie, so that the houses could be 
put up at once. 

“ But you know. Con O'Regan’s goin’ to live with 
us for a while,” said Nora; “we’ll not let him live 
like a hermit all alone by himseT. It'll be time 
enough for him to go to his own house next yeai 
when he’ll be beginnin’ to think of gettin’ out his 
family.” 

“Oh! well, even so,” observed Felix, “its best to 
have the timber chopped and shaped. It’ll be all 
the better for lying over a while to season, and next 
fall we’ll get the boys to come again and put up the 


EinGRANT LIFE THE NEW WORLD. 

house for Con. But there’s J udy waiting for us, I 
see.” 

“Sit over now, all of you,” said Mrs. Bergen, 
“and see if you can eat a bit. Come here, Nora, 
alanna machree ! and sit beside me.” 

“ Why, then, I declare,” said Con, “ we haven’t the 
least occasion for anything now. We’ve been eatin’ 
ever since we came.” 

“Nonsense, man!” cried Felix, who was already 
doing mighty execution on the ham aforesaid ; “ non- 
sense, man, do you think it’s in the city you are still ? 
You’ll have to work hard here, I tell you, so you 
must eat whenever you get the chance. The air is 
mighty keen and sharp at times on these prairies, 
and it’ll soon give you your appetite, I tell you. Sit 
over now at once and don’t keep us waiting on your 
honors all day. Now Judy, my woman! be sure 
you give us a rousing cup of tea — if you don’t, mind 
you’ll catch it.” 

There was no resisting Felix’s whole-hearted hos- 
pitality, so to it they all went, and it did Judy’s 
heart good to see how well her good things were 
appreciated, though her modesty was a little tried, 
now and then by the honest encomiums impartially 
divided between her cookery and the quality of her 
viands. 

The evening passed merrily and quickly, with 
many detailed remembrances of the land so far dis- 
tant and so dearly loved The new-comers were en- 
tertained with stories of Western life calculated to 


CON o’BSOAa ; 03 


hn 

prepare them for what they had themselves to ex- 
pect, the dangers to be avoided and the proper 
course to be pursued in forming homes and home- 
steads, raising crops, and all the rest. At length 
some one noticed that Janie and Patsey were nod- 
ding on either si-de of the huge chimney, and this 
was the signal for a general rising, for, “ sure enough, 
it’s tired they must all be, and in need of get tin’ to 
their beds.” A cordkl good-night was thereupon 
exchanged, and the hardy settlers, calling to them 
their respective dogs, who had lain slumbering in 
various corners of the spacious kitchen, stepped out 
into the clear staidight of the prairie, with hearts 
light and free as the air they breathed. What though 
miles lay between them and their respective homes, 
they had health and strength and that buoyancy of 
spirit which is one of the prevailing characteristics 
of their race. 

“ But, I say, Felix,” said our friend Thady, turning 
back on his heel after he had gone a few steps; “I 
say, a’nt Father Doran a-coming next Sunday ?” 

Of course,” was Felix’s answer ; “ don’t you know 
it’s a fortnight since he was here ? Well have Mass, 
please God, a.s usual, at nine o’clock, so look sharp 
all of you and don’t be cornin’ in when it’s half over. 
And, do you hear, Thady !” going after him to the 
door, “his reverence will get in a Saturday evening 
this time, so he can hear any one that wants to go to 
confession. I was near forgettin’ to tell you, and he 
bid me do it, for I was talking to- him in town Iasi 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


3Q3 


Monday. Mind and tell as many as yon can, now ? ” 

“ All right ! ” responded Thady, and away he went 
with rapid strides to overtake his companions, 
whistling as he went, “ Old Ireland, a long farewell ! ” 

“So, then, the priest comes here once a fort- 
night?” said Con, as Fehx took a seat near the 
blazing hearth. 

Felix replied in the affirmative, adding, “in the 
course of a year or two we're in hopes of having 
him settled here for good and all. Father Doran 
has hard enough times of it, poor man, for he has 
charge of two or three missions, and the sick calls 
are worse than all. There’s times when he has to 
go forty or fifty miles to give the rites of the 
Church ” 

“ Do you tell me so ?” cried Paul, in blank amaze- 
ment, as he thought of the parishes in Ireland, per- 
haps four or six miles square. 

“ I do tell you so, and it's truth I tell you. Still 
he doesn’t murmur ; he says we must only look 
straight before us, and that God will make it all 
right in His own good time. He’s so thankful — I 
mean Father Doran — to see the people settling down 
here on farms, and putting themselves in the way of 
serving both body and soul that he thinks no trouble 
too great.” 

“ He’s a good priest, then, is he?” inquired Con. 

“Good !” cried Judy, “he’s one of the finest men 
you ever laid an eye on. lie has no more pride in 
him than a little'child. You kno w it’s with us he 


324 


CON o’rrgan ; OR, 


stops whenever he comes the wav, and I declare tfl 
you he’s as easy pleased as any of our laboring mea. 
The Lord’s blessin’ be about him ! But he’ll be here 
on Saturday evenin’, and you’ll see what he is your- 
selves.” 

Here a yawn from Paul reminded the careful 
mistress of the mansion that the travellers needed 
rest. “ I b’lieve we’ll not mind say in’ the Rosary 
the night,” said she, “ as you’re all so dead tired.” 

“ Ah, then,” said Nora, rousing herself from the 
drowsy fit into which she had been failing, “ ah, 
then, indeed, it’s not on our account you’ll miss it. 
It’s us that have a right to say it this night, when 
we’ve got safe to our journey’s end.” 

“ Very well,” said Judy, “ I’ll just hang on a skillet 
of milk to make you a good posset. It’ll be ready 
by the time the Rosary’s said, and it’ll do you all 
the good in life just to take it before you lie down.” 

On the following morning when our little party 
met at breakfast, Felix began to congratulate his 
brother on the fine family he bad. Janie was still 
washing and combing the youngsters in the inner 
room, so that the children were not within hearing. 
Paul replied that they were well enough — clean, 
healthy children, he thanked God, “but there’s that 
eldest boy,” said he, “ an’ I can hardly keep him in 
bounds, at all, at all.” 

“ Why, how is that, Paul ?” 

“Oh, then, bad cess to the one of me knows,” 
returned Paul, dejectedly, “he \\^a8 always of a 


EMIGRA/fT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 325 

itirrin’, resolute turn, an’ I suppose after pool 
Peter’s death, God be good to him ! we petted him 
more than we ought to have done ” ' ' 

“Nonsense, man,” interposed Nora, “you might 
as well put the saddle on the right horse at oust. 
It was the streets that made him as he is — the 
streets an’ the bad company he spent his time with. 
An angel from heaven w ould soon be made as black 
as the devil — God pardon me for sayin’ so ! — if he 
was allowed the run of the streets in them vagabond 
cities.” 

“And the schools, Mrs. Bergen!” added Con; 
“ Andy D wy er told me enough about them Common 
Schools, as they call them, ay 1 enough to make the 
hair stand on one’s head.” 

“Well! Andy has a good right to know,” ob- 
served Nora, in answer; “he’s a sensible man and 
has a power of lamin’. Somehow Paul here could 
never get it into his head that there was any great 
harm in them schools.” 

“ Why, how could they be as bad as Andy would 
make them out,” replied Paul, in an apologetio tone, 
“ when the clargy aren’t against them — at least 
where we came from ?” 

“ You do well to put that in,” said his brother, 
hastily, “ for I’ve often heard from Father Doran 
that the clargy are down on them State Schools 
everywhere, as far as Catholics are concerned. He 
says they’re first-rate for doing the devil’s work, 
Buch as making away with the good seed out of the 


326 


CON o’reqan ; OR, 


soul and planting everything that’s bad in its place. 
Ah ! God bless his reverence, he’s up to everything, 
and I’ll engage he’ll keep the wolf from his flock 
when once he’s left in charge. lie knows what’s 
good for the people, and he’ll see it carried out, or 
he’ll know for what. But about this boy of yours, 
Paul !” he suddenly added. 

“ Well, yes, Felix!” said Paul, with a heavy sigh, 
“ he’s a great trouble to me, sure enough. God di- 
rect me what to do with him !” 

“Humph!” cried Felix, with contemptuous brevi- 
ty, “ don’t give yourself any farther trouble about 
him. Once away from his bad companions, he’ll 
soon forget the tricks he lamed among them. He’ll 
soon leave off his pranks here, mind I tell you ! 
You can keep him down noio as much as you like, 
for he’ll have no little self-conceited monkeys to 
prime him up with bad advice on*, of doors. I’ll 
give you a hand, too, as long as he’s in the house with 
me, and you’ll see he’ll soon be all right — that is, 
'with the help of God.” 

During the latter part of this discourse, Judy had 
been telling Nora tiie number of her cows, sheep, 
fowls, &c., <fcc., to which Nora listened with great 
interest and no small admiration. “ Why, then, but 
you must live in a great way here entirely 1” she ex- 
claimed; “ will it ever come our lot, do you think 
to hav 3 anything like that ?” 

“ T ) be sure it will 1” cried Judy, “ if you only 
work for it as we did, an’ I’m sure you’re well 


EMIGRANT LIFR IN THE NE’.V rtOjK*.,- 


321 


enough inclined. It’s true you’re not the stoutest 
in the world yourself, hut then Paul’s a strong, 
healthy man, and the children will soon bo a great 
help to you. If you had only a couple of years 
over your head, there would be no fear of you, and 
then yoiCW not be as hard up as many others, bekase 
Felix and myself are so near you here. Thanks be 
to God ! we have enough and to spare. Still and 
all, Nora, there’s many a one we see here that’s just 
hard enough set to get through the first year or so 
till the crops come in cleverly and the bit of a house 
is made fit to live in. But then, sure, isn’t it worth 
their while to put up with some hardship for a while 
when they’ll have the benefit of it all their life and 
their children after them ? The first is always the 
worst with people here, but when they’re fairly 
started they get on, most of them, as well as heart 
could wish. Here are the children coming in now. 
Won’t you give them some of this nice milk por- 
ridge before their tea ? I made it a purpose for 
them.” 

“Indeed then I will,” said Nora, gratefully, “ an* 
it’s it that’ll be the treat for them !” 

Breakfast being over, Felix asked Paul and Con 
if they wouldn’t like to go and see their respective 
farms. “ I have some oats to sow,” said he, “ before 
I go, but all I have to do won’t take me more than a 
couple of hours.” 

“And we’ll give you a hand both of us,” said 
Con ; “ it’ll do our hearts good I’m sure to get out 


S28 


CON 0*REGAN ; 


to work in the fields again. You’ll give as our first 
lesson in Western farming.’’ 

“And me, too,” cried Patsey, making haste to 
bolt down the last spoonfuls of his porridge; “I 
guess ril go, too.” 

“ No, Patsey,” said his mother, “you’ll stay with 
Aunty an’ me for this time. Some other day you can 
go out with the men. I want you to play with Jim 
ftn’ the baby.” 

“ No, I won’t,” said Patsey, with all his precocious 
firmness; “Jane may play with the young ones. 
I’ll go with father and uncle.” 

“ Patsey !” said his father, sternly, “ you can’t go 
with us when your mother wants you here.” 

“ Yes 1 I will go !” shouted the boy, putting him 
self into an attitude ; “ I never saw folks working in 
fields and I want to go see them now.” 

“ What’s that you say, Patsey,” said his uncle, 
slowly ; “do you mean to say that you’ll not obey 
either your father or mother ?” 

“ I want to go out with you,” repeated Patsey, 
doggedly. 

“ Didn’t your father and mother both forbid you 
to go ?” 

“ Oh ! that a’nt any matter ! — I can go if I like.” 
Now Patsey calculated on having an immunity from 
punishment at least for some days after arriving at 
bis uncle’s, and he wished to show off as indepen- 
dently as possible, but his uncle fixed a look on him 


EMIGRANT IJFE IN THE NEW WORLD. S29 

that made him quail as he had hardly ever quailed 
before. 

“Now, I’ll tell you what it is, my fine fellow!’* 
said Felix, putting on a stern dignity that was by no 
means his own, and speaking in slow, measured ac- 
cents, “never let me hear you speak so again, or I’ll 
make your father hire you out to a farmer to mind 
the cattle, where you’ll have to sleep in an r ut bouse 
all alone by yourself. We’ll neither beat mr abuse 
you, but we’ll turn you over to the strargers where 
you’ll soon be broken in.” 

Patsey stood looking up at his \ c. ^ in gap.’ng 
wonder, his mouth and eyes wide opt n, and a sovt 
of half smile on his face. He e\ dent.y wished to 
believe his uncle only in jest. 1 ooking fnrtively 
round, too, his quick eye detected A smile on Con’s 
face, as he stood rather behind PaUi, and that con- 
firmed the astute urchin in his pre conceived notion. 
Assuming, therefore, a swaggering tone, he turned 
again to his uncle, det*Tn. jied to let him see that 
had caught a Tartar. “ Ha I ha 1 uncle I I a’nt so 
green as you take me for. I guess I know about as 
much as other folks. Y( u can’t do me so easy as 
you think. I tell you I will go I” 

“ And I tell you, you shan’t!” returned the uncle, 
now really angry, while Judy raised her hands and 
eyes in mute horror ; “ j ist put these city tricks 
out of your head altogether, my good boy, or so 
sure as my name is Felix Bergen, I’ll do as I said 
thio very day. Off yo i go, depend upon it! You 


330 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


needn’t look at me that way, for I tell you I’m in 
earnest, as you’ll find to your cost before you’re 
many days older. I’ll not have a curse drawn down 
on my little place by harboring a disobedient, un- 
dutiful son. Mind that now, my boy, and just take 
your choice. Either make up your mind to obey 
your father and mother — aye, and your aunt and me, 
too, or I’ll saddle a horse this very evening, and 
leave you over with Jack Quigley, five or six miles 
across the prairie. He’s just in want of a little fel- 
low about your size to herd his sheep and cattle. 
He’s the man will soon settle you, depend upon it.” 

“ Ah ! then, Felix dear, don’t be so hard on the 
child,” interrupted Judy; “ he didn't mean any harm, 
I know well enough, an’ I’ll go bail for him that he’ll 
not act so again. If he does, you may have your 
own way with him, but a first offence ought to be 
passed over.” 

“ Ah ! God help your wit, Judy,” said Hora, sadly, 

it’s little you know about the same lad. If it was 
the first offence of the kind for him. I’d be the first 
to put in a word for him, but och ! och ! it isn't the 
first of a hundred. He has no more respect for 
what we say to him than if we were two black nig- 
gers.” And by this time her tears attested the sin- 
cerity and depth of her aflliction. 

“ Do you see that now, Patsey ?” said his uncle, 
in a husky voice ; “ do you see that ? — what punish- 
ment would be too great for a son that grieves his 
mother’s heart by his undutiful conduct? — I tell 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


331 


you there’s not a boy round here that wouldn’t 
shun you like a plague if they knew you to turn 
your tongue on father or mother.’^ 

Between his mother’s tears and his uncle’s threats. 
Patsey was fairly at a stand, and the natural obsti- 
nacy of his disposition was softened down. Going 
over to his mother he said in a low tone : “ Mother, 
just tell uncle, will you ? that I won’t act so again. 
Don’t cry so — don’t now — I don’t like to see you 
cry.” A tender caress was the mother’s answer, and 
she had no need to repeat the message to Felix, for 
that worthy man had heard it, every word, and the 
smile which brightened his sun-browned cheek said 
as plainly as possible, “ My scheme has succeeded 
even better than I expected.” So winking at Con 
and Paul, he took down his hat, and telling Patsey 
he was glad to see him coming to his senses, he led 
the way to one of the out-houses where the farming 
utensils were kept. 

“Well, Paul!” said he, “what do you think of 
that for a beginning ?” 

“ First-rate, Felix ! — I declare you brought him 
to in double quick time, an’ without as much as one 
stroke !” 

“ Oh 1 as to the strokes,” observed Felix, “ I 
wouldn’t on any account lay a hand on him — that’s 
your business and his mother’s, not mine. But 1 
just meant to let him see that such work would 
never do here. That’s all. And mark my words, 
he’ll not forget the lesson in haste, because he’li 


332 


CON o’rkgan j or, 


find it backed up by the habits of the people all 
round him. He’ll not be long here till he gets 
ashamed of his notions of independence. He came 
here yesterday a little man^ but we’ll soon make 
him a little hoy. Come along now, both of you. 
We’ve lost some time, but we can soon make up 
for it — many hands, you know, make light work, 
and, when the oats is safe in the ground, we’ll get 
a bit of dinner, and then hurrah ! for your farms ! — 
I’ll show you this very day the greatest sight you 
ever saw, that is, a little estate of your own that 
neither landlord, nor proctor, nor cess-man, nor tax- 
gatherer, can ever lay claim to. Isn’t that worth 
something ?” 

“ And who may I thank for it ?” said Paul, in a 
tremulous voice. 

“ Pooh ! pooh ! ’ cried Felix, “ I suppose you'W be 
for thanking me, and Con there his good friends in 
the city, but it’s God that has done it all. Thank 
Him, then, and not me. Blessed be His name. He 
has done as much for me as for any one, and I’m 
sure there’s no one less deserving of His favors. 
But here we are — here’s the ground all ready, and 
fine soil you see it is, too. So now let us set to at 
once and we’ll be through the sooner.” 



BMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


333 


CHAPTER XIX. 

When Con and Paul were taken in succession to 
survey their new possessions, they could hardly be- 
lieve their eyes that it was wild land on which they 
looked. The undulating surface of the prairie was 
covered with the delicate herbage of Spring, green 
and soft as that which carpets the valleys of the 
Emerald Isle. The fairest and brightest-tinted flow- 
ers were scattered around in rich profusion, and 
altogether, the scene had that pastoral character 
which belongs to a high state of cultivation. At the 
northern extremity of the two farms was a grove of 
considerable extent, its strangely-mingled foliage 
presenting one mass of freshest verdure of every 
shade and tint.* In addition to this there was a 

♦ “ The attraction of the prairie consists in its extent, its car- 
pet of verdure and flowers, its undulating surface, its groves, 
and the fringe of timber by which it is surrounded.” . . . “ In 
the Spring of the year, when the young grass has just covered 
the ground with a carpet of delicate green, and e'-pecially if 
the sun is rising from behind a distant swell of the plain and 
glitcering upon the dew drops, no scene can be more lovely 
to the cyo.” , . . The gaiety of the prairie, its embellish- 


334 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

email clump of trees on Con’s farm, and where their 
shade fell deepest across the plain, his fertile imagi- 
nation instantly reared a smiling cottage, the future 
home of all he loved on earth. His eyes filled with 
tears, but they were not tears of sadness, for his 
heart was full of joyous anticipation. 

As for Paul, he could only gaze, and wonder, and 
admire. Everything was so new to him, so difier- 
ent from what he had expected, that the whole seem- 
ed a pleasing dream rather than a broad reality. 
And Felix stood and looked alternately at both, en- 
joying their surprise, a benevolent smile brightening 
his weather-bronzed features, and his hands crossed 
behind his back. At last Paul turned towards him, 
with a “ Well ! well ! if this doesn’t bate all !” 

“ What do you mean ?” asked Felix 
Why, to think of me bein’ the owner of such a 
farm as this !— me that had to pay a high rent for a 
cellar in Hope street only two weeks ago ! Why, 
Felix, a body has nothing to do but just dig up the 
ground an’ put in his crop !” 

“ Not even that, my good fellow,” said Felix, with 
a chuckling laugh, “ you haven’t to do that same — 
you have only to get it ploughed up once, and then 
sow your seed in drills — a second ploughing covers 
it up, and then the work is done. But then you 

ments, av d the absence of the gloom and savage wlldne's of 
the forest, all contribute to dispel the feeMng of lonelinesi 
which usually creeps over the mind of the solitary traveller iu 
the wilderness .” — loMfa as It Is 1855, p. 26. 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 335 

have to fence it in, and that’s the greatest difficulty 
you’ll have, but you’ll have good help at it, please 
God, and we’ll get some of the fence-rails in that 
grove for both your lots. The rest we can get from 
a man a few miles down from here that I trade with 
from time to time. He has lots of that article, and 
he takes grain or cattle, or most any sort of produce 
in exchange. Well, Con ! what are you thinking of? 
I see you’re eyeing that cluster of trees very atten- 
tively — are you thinking of cutting them down, or 
what ?” 

“ Oh ! by the laws, no I” replied Con, with un- 
wonted energy ; “ I was thinkin’ what a beautiful 
place that’ll be for the house, an’ how joyful poor 
Winny an’ the wife will be when they see it ah. 
Well, sure enough, but God is good to us ! — and the 
best of it is,” added Con, quickly, “ that we’ll be all 
our own masters here. There’s nobody to drive or 
push us, an’ if we work, it’ll be for ourselves, not for 
others! Now, Paul, if we could only see Andy 
Dwyer, and Barney Brady here, and poor Tom Der- 
ragh, we’d be all fight !” 

“ Oh I well, as to that,” said the more phlegmatic 
Paul, “ we may thank God that we’re here ourselves. 
Everybody can’t be in it !” 

Felix laughed. “ That’s you all over, Paul I I 
see that you’re still the same cool customer that you 
always were. But I wish to God,” he added, with 
sudden seriousness, “ that we had more of our own 
people out here. This is the place for them, and 


886 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


not the smd'ky, dirty suburbs of the cities, where 
they’re smothered for the want of pure air, and, 
worse than all, where they get into all sorts of ugly 
scrapes by reason of the bad company they fall in 
with, and the bad example they see wherever they 
turn. I declare to you when I get a-thinking of all 
these things, I feel so mad at them for being blind- 
led as they are, that I could almost deny them for 
my countrymen, but, then, again, when I come to 
think better of it, sure it isn’t them that’s in fault, it 
all comes from their simplicity, and sometimes, I 
suppose, for the want of means. But here’s Patsey, 
I protest. Ilillo! Patsey, what’s the matter?” 

The little fellow could hardly draw his breath. 
“ My aunt — sent — sent me — to tell you — to tell you 
— that the priest’s come. She wants you home — as 
fast as you can !” 

“All right, Patsey! — but how did you find us 
out — eh I my little man ?” 

“ Oh I sure wasn’t I standing on the little hill near 
the house looking after you, and sometimes I feU 
like following you, but — but ” 

“ But you were afraid,” said his nncle, laughing 
and winking at Con. 

“Well! I wan’t afraid, uncle, but I thought you 
might be vexed, so I just staid where I was, till 
Aunty called Dinny to send afu r you, and so I told 
her which way you went, and that I’d go.” 

“ That’s a good boy, Patsey,” said his father, pat* 
ting his head, “ never do anything that you think 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 331 

would displease your father or mother, or your 
uncle or aunt.” 

“ Why, father,” said Patsey, lowering his voice 
somewhat, “ only think! Dinny tells me that no boy 
round about here would keep company with any 
one that disobeyed father or mother — he says a boy 
that did that would be called a black sheep. A’nt 
it queer, father?” 

“Not a bit, Patsey, not a bit,” said his father, 
endeavoring to conceal his exultation; “that’s the 
way it is amongst Christians everywhere. At 
home in Ireland, such a thing is hardly ever heard 
of as children, either boys or girls, turnin’ their 
tongue on their parents. If they did they’d be 
made an example of. Mind now and be nice and 
mannerly when the priest speaks to you. Don’t 
forget who he is I” 

Patsey then fell behind to join Con who was 
walking on alone thinking of the almost measureless 
distance which lay between him and those he loved 
the best. Patsey, however, was too full of his own 
subject to pay much attention to the other’s ab* 
Btracted air. 

“ Well, now. Con, a’nt it queer? ’ he began. 

“What?” demanded Con, in a half-conscious 
tone. 

“ Why, there’s Dinny, the herd-boy, has jest bin 
a telling me that boys musn’t dare talk back to 
father or mother here. It seems none of the boys 


338 


CON o’kegan ; OR, 


hereabouts would play with a feller that did, for 
that it breaks the fourth commandment.” 

“ Well ! and what is there strange in that ?” said 
Con, now much interested in the subject; “didn’t 
you know before Dinny told you, that it was very 
wrong, and a great sin, to disobey either of your 
parents ?’ 

“ O I yes, I heard it,” said Patsey, with a careless 
toss of his head, “ but I didn’t mind — it was father 
and mother that told me, and you \inow they'd say 
it anyhow, but then Jake Hampton and all the 
others said it was all moonshine, and that a father 
or mother had no right to flog a feller because he 
happened to be their son. They said there was no 
law for it, and that no boy need stand it, if he 
hadn’t a mind to. I guess they were about right 
after all, and I’m real sorry I ever came here at all 
— I am! — Jake Hampton wanted me not to, and if 
I was only back again, you’d never catch me in 
such a place, I tell you.” 

“ Why, Patsey !” cried Con, in amazement, “ I 
thought you were getting ever so good, and would 
never be a bad, disorderly boy again 1” 

“ Oh ! that’s all a sham,” was Patsey’s quick 
response ; “ I wanted to do uncle, you know, and so 
I jest made believe that I meant to do what they’d 
tell me for the time to come, but I guess I’ll be off 
from here when I get the chance, and go back to 
Jake Hampton. But mind you don’t tell, Con 1” he 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 339 

quickly added, if you do — I shan’t ever forgive 
you — that’s all 1” 

They were now at the door, so Con merely 
nodded as he followed the precocious urchin into 
the house. 

Father Doran was seated near the fire in a high- 
backed chair of rustic fashion. He was a man in 
the decline of life, but still hale and hearty, as any 
one might see at a glance from the healthy hue of 
his weather-darkened features and the quick intelli- 
gence of his clear grey eyes, gleaming, or rather 
beaming, in the shade of thick and rather bushy 
eyebrows. There was no great polish perceptible 
in Father Doran’s manner, but there was that about 
him which commanded respect and sufficiently in- 
dicated the clergyman and the man of education. 
Still, from his constant association with the farming 
classes, he had either acquired or assumed a certain 
blunt, direct way of speaking, which, together with 
a dash of drollery, made him quite a favorite with 
the people who respected and admired his virtues 
as a priest and as a man. He had already made the 
acquaintance of Nora and her children, with the ex- 
ception of Patsey, and, after a few words of cordial 
welcome to Con and Paul, who were introduced by 
Felix, he held out bis hand to the boy, who took 
good care to obtain a prominent position. 

“How do you do, my little man? I’m glad to see 
you in Iowa. What’s your name ?” 


340 CON o’regan ; or, 

“ Folks call me Patsey, but my name is Patrick— 
Patrick Bergen.” 

‘‘Weill Patrick, you have a good name, at all 
events — the best name an Irishman or an Irish boy 
co\dd have. I hope you will be a credit to your 
name.” 

Patsey hastened to set the priest right. “ But I 
a’nt an Irish boy — I was born in B .” 

“ Oh ! ho !” said the priest, who began to smell a 
rat, as Judy afterwards said; “so you’re not Irish, 
eh? Then they had no business to call you Patrick, 
and I wouldn’t put up with it if I were you.” 

“I don’t mean to,” said Patsey, eagerly, com- 
pletely deceived by the ironical gravity of the good 
priest ; “ when I come to be a man I’ll have folks 
call me a prettier name.” 

“ Oh ! you will, eh ? — and what name will you 
take, my little fellow ?” 

“Weill I ha’nt right made up my mind,” said 
Patsey, with quite a meditative air ; “ I guess 
Washington’s about the best ” 

“ Or Parker,” suggested the priest, gravely ; 
“ wouldn’t that go well — Parker Bergen, eh ?” 

“First-rate!” cried the boy, clapping his hands 
in high glee, but his pleasurable excitement was 
only of short duration, for his father, unable to bear 

any longer, suddenly caught him by the back of 
the neck, and, giving him a good hearty shake, told 
him to go about his business, or he’d give him 
Parker Bergen on a place where he wouldn’t like it. 


EMIGRANT LIFR IN THE NEW WORLD. 341 

Patsey slunk away confounded and ashamed, whila 
his father hastened to apologize to the priest. 

“I hope your reverence will excuse him,” said he, 
“ on account of the bad way we bad heretofore of 
bringin’ him up. He was most of his time on the 
streets, sir, for when I was away at my work his 
poor mother couldn’t be runnin’ after him, an’ I 
needn’t tell you what sort of company he fell in 

with on the streets of B . Still, I hope in God 

he’s not so far gone but what he can be reclaimed, 
when he’s away from his former companions an’ in 
a place where he can always have something to 
do.” 

“Never fear, Paul, never fear!” said Father 
Doran, cheerfully, “ he’s the making of a fine manly 
fellow, and you’ll not be long here till you see a 
great change in him. For my part, I am not the 
least surprised to hear him talk so. It was just as 
natural for him to imbibe such notions from the ele- 
ments by which he was surrounded as it is for a fish 
to learn to swim. Your other children seem quiet 
and docile.” 

“ Indeed they ai’e, your reverence,” put in Nora, 
eagerly ; “ though I say it, they’re good children— 
that’s Janie and Jim here, an’ the poor fellow we 
lost, too, he was a different boy from Patsey, alto- 
gether, an’ wasn’t half so hard to manage. The only 
thing we had again him was that he was too fond 
of the streets, an’ och I och I sure it was thaZ that 
brought him to his end— /areer gar^ it was 1” 


842 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


After administering a few kind words of consola* 
tion to poor Nora, Father Doran turned to our 
friend Con and inquired whether he was married or 
single, what family he had, and other such questions, 
to all of which Con gave short, direct answers, dis- 
playing so much good sense and good manners that 
the priest began to regard him with unusual interest. 
Pressing his inquiries a little farther, he gradually 
drew out the history of Con’s good fortune, and 
beard his account of Winny, “ the best of sisters,” 
as the brother fondly called her. All this was highly 
satisfactory, and served to raise the young man still 
higher in the estimation of his new pastor, 

“Well, Con,” said he, rising from his seat, “ I am 
very glad to see you here ! it is just such men as you 
■we want to found new colonies in these magnificent 
regions : men who will hand down to their children 
the Christian virtues and the Christian faith pure 
and unsullied as they came to them from their pious 
ancestors. Mrs. Bergen, I should like to retire for 
a while to read my office, if you will secure me from 
invasion.” 

“ But, dear bless me. Father Doran, sure you must 
first get something to eat. I have a nice chicken 
cooking there in the oven, and it’ll be dore in less 
than no time. After that you can be as quiet as 
you like — not a soul I’ll let in on you if it was the 
governor himself.” 

“ Excuse me, my worthy hostess,” said the priest, 
with a smile, “ I shall bo through before your chicken 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 343 

is cooked. What I have to read now will not keep 
me long, and then I can pay my respects to your 
bill of fare.” 

In the course of the evening, when it drew near 
son down, one and another began to drop in to go 
to confession. The men were all in their working 
clothes, having merely taken time to wash hands 
and face and make their hair somewhat smooth. 
Amongst the twelve or fifteen who arrived in suc- 
cession there were some of all ages and of both 
sexes, all more or less collected in their demeanor. 
Last of all came in Thady Landrigan, and Con could 
not help saying to him in a tone of surprise : “ Why 
I thought you were to be some miles away at work 
to-day !” 

“ Well ! and sure so I was ! — what of that 
“ Why, nothing, only I didn’t expect to see you 
here this evening — that’s all I” 

“ Oh ! I see,” said Thady, forgetting for the mo- 
ment his gravity and recollection ; “ I see what 
you’re up to. I suppose you thought me such a 
wild, harum-scarum fellow, that I wouldn’t think of 
kneeling under a priest. But I’m not quite so bad 
as you seem to take me for. God forgive me, I 
was a scapegrace long enough, and it’s little comfort 
the poor mother there had with me,” pointing as he 
spoke to a comfortably-clad old woman whose sil- 
very hairs gave dignity to her mien as they showed 
from under a close-bordered cap and a neat black 
silk bonnet. The look of affectionate pride which 


344 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


accompanied these words were not lost on Con, as 
Thady proceeded : “ But that was when I was loaf- 
ing about in the cities, watching for a day’s work, 
and keeping — not the best company, in my leisure 
hours, you may be sure — then I couldn’t bear the 
thoughts ot going to my duty, and many a battle 
my mother and me had about it, but now, thank 
God ! it comes as easy to me as if I was only saying 
my prayers.” 

The room door now opened, and one penitent 
coming out another went in, whereupon Thady, per- 
ceiving that his turn was drawing near, applied him- 
self again to his book and his self-examination. 
However much Con might have been inclined to re- 
flect on what he had just heard, he was fain to ban- 
ish all such distractions from his mind for that time, 
as he, too, was preparing for confession. Still, he 
could not help saying to himself as he turned the 
leaves of his prayer-book : 

“ If it was out here poor Tom Derragh had spent 
his ten years what a different man he’d be now ! — 
and even such lads as Smith or Houlahan — would 
they have been as they are if they had been brought 
up in a quiet country-place, among their own peo- 
ple ?” The answer was a heavy sigh from the depth 
of his own heart. 

Next morning. Father Doran’s little chapel was 
crowded with earnest simple worshippers, and as 
Con O’Regan looked around from the grey-haired 
priest at the altar to the men, women, and children, 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


345? 


who composed the congregation, some telling their 
beads devoutly, and others poring intently over the 
pages of their well-worn prayer-books, he could al- 
most fancy himself at home in his own parish, with 
Father Halligan saying Mass. There was nothing 
strange in the scene, but everything home-like and 
familiar. The very bareness of the walls and the 
poverty of the place made it more like his own 
chapel of Ballymullen, and the very light as it pen- 
etrated through the high, narrow windows on either 
side, had a softened mellow hue that reminded 
him of the hazy sunshine of his own dear land. 
Near him knelt Paul and Nora Bergen, and he 
could see that they, too, were carried back into the 
tranquil past, for Paul’s bluff face had a serious yet 
softened look far different from its wonted charac- 
ter, and Nora’s mild eyes were filled with tears as 
they rested on the colored engraving, one side of 
the altar, representing St. Patrick on the hill of 
Howth banishing the snakes and toads which crawl 
in ugly motion around his feet.* 

Before Father Doran set out that afternoon to 
return to his distant dwelling, he presided at the 
hospitable board of Felix Bergen, Judy having got 

* This legend is of rather an apocryphal character, yet com- 
ing down to us with the stamp of antiquity, it. is litile wo .der 
that the people — the simple and the unlearned — give it im- 
plicit credence. There is every reason to suppose that the 
absence of venomous reptiles in Ireland is owing to some pe- 
culiar quality in the soil. 


346 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

up a twelve o’clock dinner for the priest. A few of 
the oldest and most respectable of the neighbors 
were kept for dinner, and Felix would have invited 
double the number had there been any possibility of 
seating so large a company with even tolerable com- 
fort to themselves. 

As soon as dinner was over Father Doran said 
grace, and then stood up from the table, observing 
that there were some of his parishioners to meet him 
at five o’clock, on business, so that he was obliged to 
leave sooner than he would wish. No one could 
think of staying a moment at the table after the 
priest left, so, notwithstanding divers winks and 
nods from Felix, the company all pushed back their 
chairs and manifested an intention to “ be on the 
move.” 

As Father Doran passed out through the kitchen, 
accompanied by Felix, he encountered Patsey, who 
was sitting on the floor amusing the baby, Janie 
being occupied waiting on the guests. Great as the 
priest’s hurry was he could not pass without putting 
a few questions to the boy, in whom he felt some- 
what interested. 

*‘Do you know your catechism, Patrick?” 

“ My catechism !” repeated Patsey, looking up in 
surprise; then, as he slowly took in the meaning of 
the question, he replied with much coolness ; 

“ Yes, I guess I know some of it. Mother made 
me learn it to home Sunday evenings.” 

“And did you not learn it in Church, or in school P' 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 




“ Oh no !” and Patsey laughed lightly ; “ there 
wan’t any catechism taught in school, and I hardly 
ever went to Church to catechism.” 

‘‘ And why not ?” said the priest, with a winning 
smile, and speaking in the softest tone he could 
command. 

The child looked up for a moment as if to examine 
the countenance of his interrogator, then, probably 
encouraged l)y what he saw there, he hastily replied : 

“Well, I don’t mind telling yow, ^cause I know 
you’ll not tell father or mother. You see Jake 
Hampton and all the boys used to wait for me 
Sunday afternoons at the corner jest below our 
bouse — you know that corner, don’t you? — well, 
they’d have always something on hands just then, 
and they couldn’t git along no how without me, 
and when I’d tell them that I was a-going to cate- 
chism they’d all laugh so that I used to feel real 
bad, and so they’d take me along wherever they 
wanted to go, and I’d forget all about the catechism 
till it was jest time to go home, and then I’d run 
ever so fast to git home in time, and mother never 
knew but what I was at Church. Poor Jake 
Hampton !” added Patsey, with a deep-drawn sigh, 
“I wonder how he gits along now when he ha’nt 
me to go with him? He’s a brick, is Jake Hamp- 
ton, every inch of him !” 

“Would you like to go to school, Patsey?” de- 
manded the priest, after regarding the boy with a 
pitying look for a few seconds. 


y 


848 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


“To school!” cried Patsey, with indignant em- 
phasis; “I guess not I There a’nt any schools out 
here fit to go to. Jake Hampton said so.” 

“ Oh ! never mind what Jake Hampton said,” re- 
joined the priest, with his cool, satirical smile ; “ PH 
have you a good school, soon, depend upon it, where 
the catechism shall be taught, and where you will 
learn to be a good boy, and grow up a good man. 
Good-bye, Patsey, my boy I I hope to hear a good 
account of you when I come again.” 

Felix had gone out at the commencement of this 
little dialogue, and now appeared at the front door 
with the priest’s horse. Independent land-owner 
as Felix Bergen was, he considered it a high honor 
to wait upon Father Doran, so high, indeed, that he 
could never be prevailed upon to let Dinny or any 
one else do for him anything that he could do. 

“ And why wouldn’t I ?” he used to say ; “ isn’t it 
jroud and happy I am to have a place for his reve- 
rence to stop in, and good stabling for his horse ? 
Isn’t it a great honor entirely for a poor' ignorant 
man like me to have the Lord’s anointed under my 
roof?” So, on this principle, both Felix and Judy 
thought they never could do half enough for his 
reverence, in return for the high and distinctive honor 
his presence conferred upon them. 

Most of the guests left soon after the priest, aa 
many of them had a long way to go, but Mrs. Laii- 
drigan and her son were prevailed upon to stay for 
the evening, as also Pat Mullins. The latter attached 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN TRE NEW WORLD. 


S49 


himself to Con, who was much amused by his quaint 
drollery. His cousin Thady was usually the butt of 
his harmless raillery, but on this occasion he “ kept 
his tongue off him,” as he said to Con, “ on account 
of his being at communion in the morning. I never 
spare him at other times,” observed Pat, “ for, to tell 
the truth, he’s such a good-hearted slob of a fellow 
that he never takes it ill, no matter what I say to him, 
but, of coorse, I can’t be carrying on to-day with liim 
as I would at another time.” 

“ What’s the matter with your hand, Thady ?” 
said Mrs. Felix Bergen; “I see you have it tied up 
there.” 

“ Oh ! it’s only a scratch,” said Thady, carelessly, 
“nothing worth speaking of” 

“Why, now, listen to what he says!” cried his 
mother, who was smoking her pipe in Felix’s high- 
backed chair in the chimney corner; “indeed, Mrs. 
Bergen dear, it’s bad enough it is with him. He has 
a very sore hand entirely.” 

“ And how did ho get it, at all ?” 

“ Why, you see, he was down with a lot of the 
boys at widow Moran’s, puttin’ up a barn for the 
crature, as she has no man-body to help her, an’ it 
was in the dusk of the evenin’ they were doin’ it, 
after their work was over at home ; so poor Thady 
there was cuttin’ at a wedge with a big knife, and 
what would you have of it, ma’am, but the knife 
slipped a one side, an’ gave him a terrible cut. I'm 
afeard it’ll be a hand to him this many a day.” 


850 


CON O^RKGAN ; OR, 


“ Pooh, pooh, mother, you’re always so easy 
frightened,” said Thady, with a look of affectionate 
reproach; ‘‘please God, I’ll be able to give Paul 
Bergen a hand at the putting up of his house a 
Thursday next. There’s nothing the matter with 
my hand but what a couple of days will cure.” 

“Not a hand or hand you’ll give me^ Thady, 
all day a Thursday !” put in Paul ; “ you must just 
keep quiet till that hand gets well — such things are 
not to be played with, I can tell you !” 

“ Well, at any rate,” said Thady, “if I’m not able 
to help you on Thursday, which, please God, I will, 
you’ll have to put off the job till the week after, for 
I promised to give you a hand, and I will, too, if 
I’m a living man.” 

“Well! well! Thady, anything at all to please 
you,” said Felix, jocosely; “I know of old that 
you’d have your own way, no matter what comes 
or goes. But, tell me this, Pat Mullins — did you 
ever hear from that foolish brother-in-law of yours 
since he went away? I always forgot to ask you.” 

“ Hear from him !” cried Pat, with a sudden 
change of manner; “ is it him to write a scrowl to 
any one, the graceless vagabond ! — ob, no ! there 
isn't that much good in him. He went back to 
Philadelphy, you know, against the advice of his fa- 
ther and. mother, though I seen them myself as good 
as goin’ down on their knees to him not to go, but 
the divil had too fast a grip of him to let him be 
said Ox' led by them that was for his good, and, if 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


851 


you please, it’s what he made game of the old cou 
pie, and tould them not to fret about him, for that 
if he wasn’t back in three weeks he’d write. — You 
know the cant word people used to have at home. — 
Poor Phelim and Norry! they never raised their 
heads since, nor won’t, till they go to their graves, 
let that be long or short. Ah ! God isn’t in heaven, 
or that fellow will be made an example of before 
ever he leaves this world.” 

“ God send he mayn’t !” said Felix, with deep feel- 
ing ; *' I wouldn’t be in his place for a mint o’ money.” 

“Nor I neither,” observed Thady; “the wildest 
day ever I was I could never go the length of that, 
though, God knows, I was bad enough. However, 
it was the best of Lanty’s play to clear off from here 
if he meant to carry on in that way, for no decent 
boy round here would have anything to say to him 
while he made so little of his parents. None of us 
cared much about him at the best, for we used to 
think there was something very light in him. He 
could never content himself here, either, but was al- 
ways jibing at everything he saw, and had no respect 
for any one !” 

Patsey was sitting in the corner beyond Mrs. 
Landrigan listening to this conversation, with eyes 
and mouth wide open. Turning eagerly from one 
to the other of the speakers, he swallowed every 
word, and when Thady had concluded this last 
speech, he drew a long breath, and looking round 
met his mother’s eyes fixed full upon him. Blush- 


352 


CON o’kegan ; OR, 


ing like scarlet, the little fellow slunk farther into 
his corner, and Nora nudged her husband, who sat 
near her, and made a sign for him to look at Patsey. 
A glance of joyful meaning revealed to each the 
hopes which both began already to entertain. If 
all this did not make an impression on Patsey’i 
mind, then nothing ever could. 



EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


853 


CHAPTER XX. 

Three years had passed away since Con O’Regan 
and his friends heard their first Mass in Iowa. Many 
more homesteads dotted the smiling face of the 
prairie, and amongst them were two owned respec- 
tively by Paul Bergen and Con O’Regan. In the 
shade of the clump of maples stood the small but 
comfortable cottage put up for Con in the course of 
the first year by the ready and willing hands of 
Thady Landrigan and his “ neighbor boys.” Round 
it spread the rich and well-tilled fields, already care- 
fully inclosed, where a succession of crops was in 
progress the whole year round. It was the begin- 
ning of May, and in that mild climate, the oats, and 
corn, and wheat were already above ground, while 
in one portion of a large field, the early potatoes 
were raising their dark-green tops, in promise of a 
luxuriant harvest. In a pen at a short distance from 
the house were some three or four first-rate hogs fat- 
tening to kill, while several others of inferior size 
roamed at will, regaling themselves on the mud of 
the farmyard. A handsome young horse was frisk- 
ing and gambolling in a pasture close by, in company 


S54 


CON o’rkgan ; OR, 


with three or four good milch cows. Behind tho 
house was a garden of moderate size, planted half 
with early potatoes, and in the farther corner, partly 
Iddden at that noontide hour hy the deep shade of 
the neighboring trees, was Con himself hard at work 
planting cabbages, or, as he would say himself, “ put- 
ting down plants.” And within doors, all was life 
and animation. A fair young matron, small, and 
neat and tidy, was moving lightly about preparing 
the mid-day meal, whose savory odor scented all the 
air within and around the house. Two pretty 
children were seated on low stools near the fire en- 
joying with much apparent relish the soup which 
their mother had just dealt out to them. These 
three were “ Biddy and the children,” so often talked 
of, and so long expected. But where w^as Winny, 
our earliest acquaintance of all the O’Begans? — 
where but in her brother’s corner, with a piece of 
needlework in her hand, and a very handsome grey 
pussy purring and dozing on her knee. And Win- 
ny’s face was no longer pale, nor her eyes no longer 
sad and downcast, as she raised them to her sister- 
in-law’s face with a happy smile. 

“Well, now, Biddy!” said she, laying down her 
work for the moment on pussy’s back, “ well, now, 
Biddy, I’d give a trifle of my own to know who that 
schoolmaster is that Father Doran’s getting out. 
His reverence is keeping it mighty close, though he 
gives us a hint now and then that we’ll be glad to 
see him when he comes.” 


emigrant life in the nev/ world. 855 

“ Oh ! k’s all plain enough to me,” replied Biddy, 
who rather piqued herself on her clear-sightedness ; 
** he’s getting him out from somewhere near our own 
place at home. I’d wager a trifle, Winny dear, that 
it’s ould Dominick Shannon that was teachin’ school 
for Father Staunton, when Con left home, up at Kil- 
lorgan. He was doing nothing when I came out 
only goin’ from one farmer’s house to another teach- 
in’ the children after hours. As sure as anything 
it’s him that Father Doran is gettin’ out, for I was 
talkin’ to him myself about him !” 

“ Well ! I don’t know, I’m sure,” said Winny, with 
a thoughtful air, “but I wish he was come at any 
rate, for the children round here are badly in want 
of him. Not but what Cormac Dillon does his best 
with them, but that* isn’t much, poor man! for he 
hasn’t the learning himself. Still he teaches them to 
read and write.” 

“ And teaches them their catechism, too,” observ- 
ed Biddy, “ and their prayers, and sure that itself is 
a great thing. Run out, Micky,” to her eldest child, 
“ and call your father — he must be in need of his din- 
ner by this time !” 

“ Did you hear the news ?” said Con, as he washed 
his hands in preparation for dinner. 

“No I” said one, and “ no I” said the other ; “ what 
.n the world is it ?” 

“ Why, the new schoolmaster is at Dubuque. 
Father Doran sent word for a couple of us to go 
out with wagons for him and his family.” 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


8r>6 

“ Why, then, are you in earnest, Con,” said bia 
wife, forgetting the lateness of the hour in the en- 
grossing interest of the news; “well, I think x. 
know who he is 

“You!” cried her husband, “ why, how woul3 you 
know, Biddy astore ?” 

“ Oh I never mind that,” said Biddy, with a saga- 
cious nod of her little head, “I know and that’s 
enough. Ask Winny if I don’t !” 

Con looked at his sister who smiled and said, “ I 
have only her own word for it. She thinks it’s 
Dominick Shannon that used to teach the Killorgau 
school.” 

This made Con laugh heartily. “You might just 
as well expect to see Slievebeg itself out here,” said 
he, “ as old Dominick Shannon.” 

“ Well ! well !” persisted Biddy, “ time will tell ! 
You’ll see whether you or I’m right. But are you 
going to Dubuque, Con ?” 

“I believe not, then, for Paul Bergen and Tommy 
Mulligan offered to go, and that’s enough, Felix 
says. I’m just as well pleased not to have to go on 
account of them plants I’m putting down. With 
God’s help I’ll get them finished to-morrow. Glory 
be to God, aren’t they altered times with us all, 
Winny ? — and to think that it’s only three years 
since we first came out here !” 

“Dear knows,” said Winny, in her soft, calm 
voice, as she looked around on the small but neat 
and comfortable kitchen in which they were assem- 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WOr.LD. 85t 

bled, and then glanced out through the window at 
the fresh and tufted foliage of the trees through 
which the sunbeams w'ere now struggling; “dear 
knows, Con! I often think and think of it till it 
seems to fade away into a dream. Often and often 
when I take the children out for a run on the 
pasture, and sit down wdth my knitting or sewing 
under one of the trees abroad, I feel the tears 
coming into my eyes, not tears of sorrow, you may 
be sure, but my heart is so full of peace, and I’m so 
happy and so contented. Everything looks so quiet 
all around and the church and the priest’s new 
house just in sight, and all the houses as far as I can 
see belongin’ to friends and acquaintances — ah ! 
Con,” she added, and her voice faltered with emo- 
tion, “ ah, Con ! if our poor mother was only alive 
now, how happy we could make her here ! But 
sure,” and she wiped away a tear, “ but sure I hope 
she’s happier even than we are. May the Lord 
receive her soul in glory I” 

“Amenl” responded Con and Biddy, and for a 
few moments nothing more was said. The mention 
of the beloved and lamented dead raised the 
thoughts of all for a brief space from the narrow 
sphere around them. Memory was busy with the 
brother and sister, at least, as they fondly thought 
of the mother they had lost. But there was no 
bitterness in their feelings. Time had softened 
down the grief of each, and they could look back 
with mournful pleasure on the long-vanished years 


858 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

when their little circle revolved round that precious 
centre, a loving and beloved — a Christian mother. 

Well, after all,” said Biddy, blessing herself and 
rising from the table, “ there’s no use frettin’ about 
them that’s gone. It’ll be our own turn one day or 
another, and God grant we may be as well prepared 
as she was.” 

“Don’t you think, Con,” said Winny, “that wo 
ought to have a letter from Mr. Coulter by this 
time? — how long is it now since you sent him that 
money ?” 

“ Why, indeed, it’s long enough for me to have 
had an answer. I’m beginnin’ to be real uneasy for 
fear my letter went astray. But sure it couldn’t, 
after all, for Father Doran directed it for me with 
his own hand, and, of course, he put on the right di- 
rection.” 

“Oh! there’s not the least danger of it going 
astray — I’m sure of that,” said Winny, “ but some- 
how I’m afraid there’s some reason for Mr. Coulter 
not writing. There’s something wrong, you may 
depend upon it, or he wouldn’t be this long without 
answering your letter. I hope in God he's not 
siek 1” 

A shade of anxiety passed over Con’s face, but 
he affected to laugh at Winny’s fears. “ Well, now, 
Winny, that’s you all over. You’re always frettin’ 
about something. Ill engage Mr. Coulter’s as well 
as any of us here. What would ail him, I want to 
know 1? But this will never do for me ! Come along 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


359 


out to the garden, children, — you can play in the 
shade.” The children were glad of the Invitation, 
and scampered off in search of their straw hats, 
which Judy Bergen had plaited for them with her 
own hands. 

Although Con did not say so to Winny, he began 
to fear that something had really happened to Mr. 
Coulter, and he made it his business that evening, 
after his day^s work was over, to go to the Post 
Office, which was about two miles distant. There 
he found a letter from his kind benefactor, which 
justified, while it relieved, all his fears. The old 
gentleman had received Con^s letter, and had duly 
handed over to his sisters the draft of a hundred 
dollars enclosed in it. For himself, he said, he 
would have acknowledged its receipt sooner, were it 
not that he had had an alarming fit of apoplexy, 
from the effects of which he was but just recovering. 
“ And tell Winny, he added, “ that Dr. Richards 
got his dismissal from the house. I managed that 
point anyhow, sick as I was, for I never liked the 
rascal since a certain affair took place. You do not 
know what I mean, Con, but Winny knows well 
enough. I know you’ll be all frightened to hear of 
how near going I .was, but, for the present, there’s 
no more danger, the doctor says. I suppose I may 
look out for the next attack, but, meanwhile, I must 
only drive dull care away. ^ Eat, drink, and be 
merry, for to-morrow you die’ — that’s the handwrit- 
ing on the wall, you see. Pooh ! pooh I what am I 


860 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


writing about to Con O’Regan ! I forgot, you see, 
that you were ordy Con O’Regan. Well! after all^ 
you may know more of the Scripture than one would 
suppose, for I found out long ago that you have 
Daniels among you to expound the enigmas of the 
Holy Book. Talking of that, I was making in- 
quiries some time ago for your friend Dwyer — was 
not that his name ? — but I could find no trace of him. 
The place that knew him knows him no more. I 
was told he had left the city, but where he was gone, 
no one that I met could tell me. Well! I should 
like to see you all in that happy home which you 
describe in such glowing colors. I saw you — both 
you and Winny — in your hours of darkness — ay I and 
your little wife, too, when she found that you wern’t 
here before her, and I would give something to see 
you as you are now. That pleasure, however, I 
I shall never enjoy. Never — never 1 But. never 
mind. I’ll live as long as I can, and when I must go, 
I suppose I must, and there’s an end of it. Mrs. 
Coulter made a great fuss about the state of my 
soul, as she called it, and would insist on my having 
Irving to pray with me, but I cut her pretty short, 
I tell you. I never gave in to cant or hypocrisy all 
my life, and I mean to die as I have lived ! an honest 
man, and no sham. When you hear of my death. 
Con, be sure that I died just as I tell you, without 
fear or dread. If there le another world, (which I 
am half inclined to doubt,) why, I am quite willing 
to take my chance in it, for I think I have done my 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 381 

duty here. In any case, believe me to be your sin- 
cere well-wisher, Samuel Coulter. 

“P-S. — My sisters are well, and jogging along 
through life, as usual, with Letty at their heels. 
Poor Letty got bit lately by some mad preacher — a 
Millerite, or something of the kind, and ever since 
my sisters are bored to death with her pious rav- 
ings. Still she's about the same good-natured crea- 
ture she ever was, and often talks of you and Winny. 
My sisters are well pleased to hear of your doing so 
well, and they say you need not have been in such 
a hurry sending the money. But I say, youVe quite 
right to lessen your debt as soon as you can. If 
you made any unnecessary delay — mind I say unne- 
cessary — you wouldn’t be the man I take you for. 
Tell Winny that the girls often speak of her, espe- 
cially Rachel, and Mrs. Coulter often admits with 
(I think) a remorseful sigh that Winny O’Regan 
was a faithful servant. Time for her to find it out, 
was it not ?” 

By the time Con had finished reading this epistle 
the tears were streaming from Winny’s eyes. “ The 
Lord be praised !” she cried, “ that he got over it 
this turn anyhow! It might please God to change 
his heart and open his eyes to the truth before he 
takes him out of this world. How lightly he talks 
of death, poor dear man! — because he knows noth* 
ing of the judgment that’s to come after it ! May 


$62 


CON O^KEGAN ; OR, 

the Lord save him from an ill end ! Ah ! I knew— 
1 knew there was something wrong with him !” 

“ And me, too, Winny,” said her brother, “ though 
I didn’t own it. Thanks be to God, things aren’t 
as bad, after all, as they might be. Sure they say 
that apoplexy is mighty dangerous, and takes peo- 
ple off very suddenly. I hope the master will 
never have another turn of it, though he seems to 
dread it.’* 

“ Well ! I’d be sorry for anything bad to come on 
him,” observed Biddy, who had just come in from 
milking; “he’s a fine ould gentleman, dear knows! 
but then he mightn’t call me a little wife — I’m sure 
it’s no disgrace to be little, and I suppose I’m as 
well to be seen as them that’s far bigger.” 

Biddy was evidently hurt by the unlucky allusion 
in the letter to her diminutive stature, and it took 
some reasoning from both Con and Winny to con- 
vince her that Mr. Coulter meant nothing but what 
was kind. However, she was at length persuaded, 
and volunteered a promise to say a pater and ave 
every day that Mr. Coulter mightn’t be taken short, 
and might get the grace of a happy death. 

Knowing that Biddy, though the best and dearest 
of wives, and the kindest of sisters, was none of the 
most discreet in her conversation. Con took no 
notice at that time of the allusion to Dr. Richards, 
but the first time he and Winny were alone togeth- 
er, he pressed her so close with questions that she 
was obliged to tell him the whole affair, and from 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 363 

the deep, though suppressed anger which she saw 
legibly written on his expressive face, Winny was 
very thankful that he heard it then for the first 
time. 

“Well !” said Con, speaking very slowly, “ there’s 
no use talkin’ about it now when the rascal is so far 
out of my reach, but if I had only known it in time 
— well ! I wouldn’t wish to hurt him, villain an’ all 
as he is ! — ^but I’d have wrung his nose for him, if I 
had to go to his own office to do it !” 

“And what good would that have done either 
you or me, Con dear ?” said his sister, mildly ; 
“you might only have got yourself into trouble, 
and that was the very reason why I never let you 
know anything of it. But, never mind Dr. Richards, 
Con, I forgive him from my heart, and may God 
forgive him! — just come here and look at the sham- 
rock — run in, Micky, my pet ! and see if your 
mother can come out a while!” It was in the 
garden, and “ the young May moon” was shining in 
meridian splendor. 

Away ran Micky, who returned in a very few 
minutes with bis mother by the hand, little Winny 
hanging by her skirt at the other side. 

“What’s this?” cried Biddy, as she drew near; 
“ Micky came for me in a great hurry, sayin’ that 
his aunt wanted me.” 

“And so I do, Biddy dear,” and Winny putting 
her arm within hers drew her towards a shady nook, 
now illumined by the soft moonlight. “I want t« 


364 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

Bhow* you how well our shamrock is thriving,” 
Now Biddy had brought this shamrock root all the 
way from Ireland, and that at her husband’s special 
request, so she felt deeply interested in its welfare, 
and great was her joy when she found that it had 
spread considerably, and wore as bright a green as 
though it were still on some Irish hilhside. She 
had of late forgotten it altogether, but not so with 
Winny, who had watered and tended it with un- 
ceasing care. Even Con had latterly lost sight of 
the precious plant, and as Winny happened to be 
taking care of Mrs. Landrigan, who was seriously 
ill, when St. Patrick’s Day came round, strange to 
say he never once thought of his native shamrock, 
although the day was as well celebiated as Father 
Doran’s means would permit. 

“Well! I declare now, Winny, that’s great!” ex- 
claimed Biddy, bending fondly over the charmed 
spot; “ why, I thought it would never grow half so 
well here as at home, and that I mayn’t do an ill 
turn ! but it’s as green as a leek, and greener, too, 
for that matter 1” 

“Well! sure enough, it’s a great thing,” said 
Con, “that we have a rale Irish shamrock growin’ 
in our garden. I must bring a root of it to Father 
Doran the first time I’m passin’ that way. But I 
think ril just take a run over to Paul Bergen’s and 
see how they’re gettin’ on there. Paul will be 
Btartin’ to-morrow for Dubuque, and I want to send 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


865 


for some little things. Weren’t you say in’ you 
wanted tea, Biddy ?” 

Biddy did want tea, and sugar, too, and Winny 
wanted something else, so Con went off charged 
with some half a dozen commissions for Paul. A 
few minutes’ walk brought him to the end of his 
journey, where Paul Bergen’s farmhouse stood on 
the top of a gentle eminence overhanging a limpid 
stream. Behind it were two or three outhouses, a 
barn, a stable, and a milkhouse, or dairy, all white 
as lime could make them. The house itself stood a 
little back from the road, and the space in front 
was covered with fresh grass, forming a little 
bleach-green, which Nora valued as highly as any 
other of her possessions. When Con reached the 
low fence which divided Paul’s tenement from the 
high road, he stopped a moment and leaned over 
the little gate, surveying at his leisure the various 
features of the scene as they lay calm and bright in 
the moonlight. And as he gazed, memory brought 
back the cellar in Hope street, where he had first 
seen Paul Bergen and his family. He thought of 
Nora as he then saw her, shivering over a fireless 
stove with a pale, sickly babe in her arms. He 
thought of the night of Peter’s death, when Paul 
sat carousing with his boon companions in one cor- 
ner, squandering almost his last shilling, while his 
child lay gasping and moaning in another, and his 
wretched wife watching by her son with a world of 
unmitigated anguish preying on her inmost heart 


366 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


He thought of the little naked children, and the 
mother almost as poorly clad, while Paul was 
spending his hard earnings in Phil McDermott’s 
bar-room, or some other such Bacchanalian haunt. 
And again he looked on the smiling scene before 
him — the snug and rather spacious farmhouse with 
the fire-light flickering brightly through the kitchen 
window, the little patch of grass-plot in front, and 
behind, houses full of cattle, and grain, and the va- 
N/ rious produce of a fertile and well-tilled farm. 
And Con asked himself was all this real ? was Paul 
Bergen indeed the owner of all he saw, and a fer- 
vent aspiration of gratitude rose from his heart as 
he murmured, “ yes ! thank God ! he is — Paul owns 
every stick and stone of it, and though it’s a fine 
place and a comfortable place to boot, my own is 
not far behind it. The Lord in Heaven be praised 
for His wonderful goodness to us.” 

So saying, he opened the gate, and then the door, 
and entered the house with a “ God save all here !” 

“ Why, then, God save you kindly, is it yourself 
that’s in it. Con ?” said I^ora from her station in the 
chimney-corner, where she sat knitting a stocking, 
the light from the blazing hearth giving a warm glow 
to her comely face and person. On the other side 
sat Paul, engaged in fabricating a rod basket. 

“ It is myself, and nobody else,” replied Con, as he 
drew a chair towards the fire; “I heard you were 
for going to town to-morrow, Paul, so I just slipped 
over with some messages from Biddy. These women 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


367 


are always wanting something, I declare. Hillo, 
Patsey ! what are you about there ?” 

“ He’s learnin’ his catechism,” said his mother ; 
^‘he can’t read very well, you know, but Father 
Doran promised him a nice picture if he’d learn a 
lesson of it for him between this and Sunday. He s 
60 busy all day, poor fellow ! workin’ out with his 
father, that it’s only in the evenings he can get at it.” 

“ Poor Patsey !” said Con, in a tone of mock 
sympathy, “ he has to work harder here than if he 
was still in the city. It’s a poor thing, after all, to 
live in the country. Isn’t it, Patsey ?” 

“Ho, indeed,” said Patsey, quickly, “I like the 
country far better than the town. Father never 
lets me do any work that I’m not able for, and I like 
to help him with whatever he’s at. I wouldn’t go 
back now to the city if they were to give me ever 
so. Boys like me have got nothing to do there, and 
I’d rather be at work.” 

“And what about Jake Hampton and all the 
others ?” asked Con, winking at Paul ; “ wouldn’t 
you like to see them again ? I thought you meant 
to go back to them as soon as you got the chance !” 

“ Oh ! I hadn’t any sense then,” said Patsey, with 
a deep blush. “ I don’t want to see any of them 
fellows now. They were bad boys, all of them. 
Why, Con, if you’d only hear the wicked talk that 
they used to have, and how they’d curse and swear . 
—and there wasn’t one of them Irish — not one.” 

“ Well ! Patsey,” said Con, “ I’m well pleased to 


368 


CON o’rkgan ; OR, 


hear you speak so, for I think they were bad boys— 
worse than any you’ll ever meet out here.” 

“ That’s because they have nothing to do,” said 
Patsey ; “ they’re on the streets most of their time, 
you know, and they see all sorts of badness there. 
If they were out hoeing and weeding in the field or 
in the garden all day as I am, they wouldn’t have 
half the wickedness in them.” 

“ I can hoe, too !” put in little Jim, who was barely 
seven years old. 

“ You I” said Con, in affected surprise ; “ you don't 
say so, Jim ?” 

“Yes I can — ask mother if I didn't help her and 
Janie to hoe the garden ! — didn’t I now, mother ?” 

“You did, indeed, my son,” and his mother fondly 
patted his head where he sat beside her on a low 
stool, making a “grenadier’s cap” of rushes. “We 
could never have got it done without you, Jim, and 
your father must bring you a nice new cap to-mor- 
row from Dubuque. You’re the best little worker 
about the house.” 

“ But what about this new schoolmaster,” inquir- 
ed Con, turning to Paul ; “ do you know anything 
about him ?” 

“Oh! not a thing,” said Paul; “how should I 
know anything about him? — he’s some acquaintance 
of Father Doran’s, you know yourself, and that’s 
just as much as I know. He’ll make the boys and 
girls look sharp at any rate.” 

“Now, bother to you, Paul!” cried Nora, with a 


EMIGRANT MFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


369 


smile, why will you be frightening the children that 
way ? — see how Patsey looks at you !” 

“ Oh ! it don’t frighten me, mother,” said Patsey ; 
“ I’ll try and learn well when I go to school, and then 
I’m sure the master won’t be cross. But what will 
father do without me ?” he suddenly added, for tho 
little fellow had got an idea that his assistance was 
necessary to his father. 

“Oh! never mind that, Patsey,” said the proud 
and happy father, “ your schoolin’ mustn’t be neg- 
lected, let what will come or go. There’s too much 
time lost already.” 

“ Oh well! sure I can do a good deal before and 
after school,” said Patsey, joyfully ; “I’ll not be all 
day away.” This difficulty obviated, Patsey again 
applied himself to his book. Nora then made a sign 
to Con to sit over near her. 

“Is it true what I hear,” said she, in a low voice, 
“ that Winny and Thady Landrigan are pulling a 
chord together ?” 

Con laughed. “ Well ! I’m sure I can hardly tell 
you,” said he ; “ I know very well that Thady has a 
liking for Winny, and ske thinks a good deal of him^ 
but whether it’ll ever come to anything between 
them, I don’t know.” 

“I know myself,” went on Nora, “that the old 
woman would be well pleased if it did come to pass, 
for she thinks the sun rises and sets on Winny. 
And I tell you one thing. Con, between you and me, 
Winny wouldn’t make a bad hit of it, if she got 


870 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

Thady. He’s the heart and soul of a good boy, and 
has a fine place, too, with not a cent of debt on it.” 

To this Con agreed, adding that for what he had 
seen of Thady, he thought very well of him, “ and, 
indeed,” he added, with a glowing cheek, “there’s* 
not many that I’d think good enough for Winny— 
you know that well, Mrs. Bergen I” 

“ I do, Con, I do, indeed!” said Hora, warmly ; “I 
know the heart you have to Winny, and I know she 
deserves it all. But sure you’re not a-going, are 
you?” seeing him stand up. 

“ Indeed, then, I am,” said Con, “ and it’s about 
time. I know this man of yours will have to be 
early on the road. Good night to you all !” 

“ Won’t I go a piece with you?” said Paul, rising 
up from amongst his rods. 

“Hot a step, then! Do you think I’d be seen 
walking the road with the likes of you? Just stay 
at your basket, for I see it’s near finished, and a real 
beauty it is, too, I know myself. It looks for all the 
world like the creels we used to carry the turf in at 
home — now doesn’t it, Mrs. Bergen ?” 

“ An’ what if it does,” interposed Paul ; “ isn’t 
that just what I wanted it to look like ? Get out of 
my house after that, as fast as ever you can, or I 
don’t know what I’ll be tempted to do ! It well be- 
comes you, I’m sure, to make little of the creels !” 
And he shook his fist at him in assumed anger. 

Con affected to be in a great hurry to make his 
escape, crying, “Let me out, let me out, will you? 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


371 


—Paul’s a terrible man when he’s angered !” On 
reaching the door he turned back on his heel, say- 
ing: “If you please, Mrs. Bergen! don’t let him 
forget Biddy’s messsges! — there would be no stand- 
ing her if he forgot the tea! she’d be savage on ray 
hands, just like himself!” And with another “ good 
night” in Irish, he bounded through the doorway. 
But Patsey and Jim were after him before he had 
reached the gate. 

“ Why, Patsey, what in the world are you about ?” 
said Con, with some surprise ; “ I thought you 
couldn’t spare a minute from the catechism !” 

“ Oh ! I can spare time enough to go a piece with 
you — me and Jim. I nearly know my lesson now, 
and I’ll be glad to have a little walk in this clear 
moonlight.” 

“ But did you ask leave to come, children ?” 

“ Oh, of course, we did — you don’t think we’d 
come icitkout leave ? Both father and mother told 
us to come.” 

“Well! well! step out, then,” said Con; “you 
may just come as far as the big maple tree yonder” — 
it was a solitary maple which stood on the roadside, 
the remains, perhaps, of a stately group. “And 
now,” said Con, “I can tell you something that I 
Know you’ll like to hear.” 

The boys were all attention in a moment. “ Do 
you know,” said Con, “ that we have some roots of 
Irish shamrock in our garden ? Biddy brought out 
one with her planted in a little bit of a box, and it 


372 


fcoN o’kegan ; OR, 


has grown so well that we have quite a little plot 
of it. I forgot to tell them at your house, but I 
mean to give your mother a root.” 

This was said partly to test the children’s feel- 
ings on the subject, and Con was agreeably sur- 
prised to see how they caught at the news. “ What’s 
that you say. Con ?” cried Patsey ; “ is it a real, 
real shamrock all the way from Ireland ?” 

“Just so 1” said Con, whereupon little Jim clapped 
his hands and cried : “ Now, we’ll have a real sham- 
rock for next St. Patrick’s Day ! — oh ! I’m so glad !” 

“ And me, too,” added Patsey. “ I wish we 
could only keep our root from father’s sight till 
we’d give him a fine bunch of shamrock next St. 
Patrick’s Day — eh, Jim ?” 

“ Well! you can if you wish,” said Con, “for to- 
morrow when your father’s gone you can come 
over for it, and just plant it in some little private 
spot in the garden where he’ll never notice it.” 

“And you won’t tell father, or mother, or any of 
them ?” 

“ Oh ! not a word,” said Con ; “ never fear but 
I’ll keep your secret.” 

“ Now, mind, Jim, you’ll not tell either, will 
you ?” said Patsey to his brother with great ear- 
nestness. 

Jim was quite willing to give the required pro- 
mise on condition that he was allowed to give a 
bunch to his mother, as Patsey was to present one 
to their father. Just then they reached the maple 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


313 


tree, whose gigantic shadow was flung far over into 
the afljoining field, and Con would not sufiTer the 
boys to go any farther. All the way home the 
brothers kept talking about the shamrock and how 
carefully they were to keep the secret, and how de- 
lighted their father and mother would be when they 
gave them each a bunch on St. Patrick’s morning 
before they went out to church. Long before they 
reached home, too, they had decided on the very 
spot where the shamrock was to be planted, and 
said Patsey : “We’ll call that our little Ireland, 
because it’s such a pretty place, the prettiest on all 
our land, — oh, won’t it be fine, Jim?” It was also 
debated whether Jane was to be admitted into their 
confidence, but on the whole they thought it hardly 
safe, as they knew she couldn’t keep anything from 
“ mother.” 

It was with a lightsome heart and a buoyant step 
that Con O’Regan traced his homeward way, exult- 
ing in the thoughts that his children were to be 
brought up in the same pure, moral atmosphere, and 
under the same healthy influences that had changed 
the little Yankee rowdy into a genuine Irish boy, 
full of the traditionary virtues of his people, and sus- 
ceptible of every noble and generous feeling. While 
musing on this agreeable subject two female figures 
appeared in the distance on the solitary road, and 
Con was at no loss to recognize the tall, graceful 
form of Winny, and the fairy-like proportions of his 
little helpmate. They were coming to meet him he 


374 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


knew very well, so hastening his steps he qnickly 
came up to them. 

“ Why, then, in the name of goodness, is it your- 
selves that’s in it ?” he laughingly asked ; “ I thought 
it might be a pair of ghosts. Aren’t you afeard to 
be out so late by yourselves in this strange coun- 
try ?” 

“ Ah then, what would we be afraid of?” re- 
sponded Winny, in the same playful tone ; “ sure 
there’s nobody here to do us hurt or harm ? — after 
we got the children to bed we just thought we’d 
take a little walk to see if we’d meet you. How 
are they all at Paul Bergen’s ?” 

“ All well — as well as can be.” 

So saying, Con opened the door of his own house, 
and a few minutes after they were all three kneeling 
at the Rosary. 



emigrant life in the new world. 


316 


CHAPTER XXL 

On the following evening, about five o’clock, a 
neighbor who was passing Con’s door with some 
oats for the mill, stopped opposite where Con was 
working in the field, and called to him that the new 
schoolmaster had arrived and that he was wanted at 
Paul Bergen’s as fast as he could go. 

“ Bless my soul I” said Con, as he repeated the 
message to Winny and his wife, “ aren’t they in a 
great hurry ? One would think it was for life and 
death, and so Neddy Branigan said when he was 
telling me. He said they seemed all in a bustle at 
Paul’s, At any rate, I must start off, and you needn’t 
wait for me to supper, for I know I’ll have to take 
mine at Paul’s.” So having made himself “ a little 
decent,” as Winny said, he hurried away to pay his 
respects to the stranger and welcome him to their 
new settlement. As he passed by Father Doran’s 
house, a pretty cottage adjoining the Church, he 
found the priest walking to and fro on a little 
verandah in front of the house. He was reading, 
and Con would not have disturbed him with any sa- 
lutation, but all at once he raised his eyes, and said ; 


m 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


“ Good evening, Con ! — see you’re in a hurry.” 

“ A good evening kindly to your reverence ! — I 
am, then, in a hurry. Father Doran, for it seems 
Paul’s got back with the new master, and they want 
me over to see him.” 

“ And right glad you’ll be to see him, too,” said 
the priest, with one of his waggish smiles. “ Do- 
minick Shannon is a fine old fellow, although, I dare 
say, you stand indebted to him for many a good cas- 
tigation.” 

“ So then it is Dominick Shannon, after all !” ex- 
claimed Con ; “ well ! I thought the old man would 
be in heaven by this time instead of coming out 
here. It’s mighty queer, so it is.” 

“Queer!’ repeated Father Doran, with his dry 
laugh; “not a bit queer — he’ll be able to explain it 
all to your satisfaction. He’ll give you chapter and 
verse for it, I promise you! Hurry on, now, for I 
know they’re expecting you.” 

Con shrugged his shoulders, but said no more, 
seeing that the priest had already resumed his read- 
ing. On reaching Paul Bergen’s, Con saw Patsey 
and Jim at some distance in the field, playing by the 
banks of the stream with some other children, 
amongst whom was a boy bigger and stronger than 
Patsey. “ Can these be old Shannon’s children ?” 
said he to himself; “surely he had neither wife nor 
children when I knew him I” The youngsters were 
too much engaged with their sport to notice Con, 
BO he passed on and opened the little gate. The 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 877 

hum of voices came from within, and as Con stopped 
a moment to collect his thoughts, he fancied that 
other familiar tones besides those of Paul and Nora 
fell upon his ear. 

‘‘ VTell! of course,” said he, “if old Dominick’s 
in it, I ought to know his voice,” so he placed his 
hand on the latch, and just then he heard one say 
within : 

“ Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth, Mar- 
garet — remember that, my poor girl, and you will 
see in your heavy sorrow a blessing in disguise!” 
Con waited to hear no more. The door opened 
before him, and he rushed in, then stood a moment 
in breathless amazement, anxious yet unable to 
speak. There before him, in all his habitual gravity, 
stood Andy Dwyer, with both hands outstretched 
in friendly greeting, and beside Paul Bergen sat 
Peggy Daly, with Nora’s youngest child on her 
knee. 

“Well, the Lord be praised !” cried Con, as he 
warmly shook Andy by the two hands, and gazed 
inquiringly into his now smiling face ; “ is this you, 
Andy Dwyer, or am I only in a dream?” and be 
turned his eyes on Paul, who nodded and smiled, 
but said nothing. 

“ It is myself and no other, Cornelius,” said Andy 
at length ; “ I am happy to say that you are under 
no delusion, for I am here even in my own proper 
person. And here is another old acquaintance. 
Margaret, my child, here is Cornelius O’Regan 1” 


818 


CON O^KEGAN ; OW, 


I— I — am glad — to hear him speak again,” mur- 
mured Peggy, in a faint voice, as she stood up and 
made a step or two forward. “ I am indeed. Con, 
very, very glad, and Tom would have been glad to 
see you too. He always liked you, Con, though he 
never took your advice.” Con shook hands with 
Peggy, who sank heavily on her seat and covered 
her face with both hands. 

“ Pm glad to see you in Iowa, Peggy,” said Con, 
after an embarrassed silence, during which he had 
been trying to think what all this could mean, “ and 
Tom — I hope he’s here, too !” A burst of tears 
was Peggy’s answer, and Andy, taking Con by the 
arm, drew him one side, where he told him in a 
whisper to say no more on that subject. 

“ Poor Tom,” said he, “ is gone the way of all 
flesh, and a sudden death he met, too — may the 
Lord have mercy on his soul I — only for that, poor 
Margaret wouldn’t be here. Never mention his 
name at all to her, unless she speaks of him herself.” 

Con was horrified to hear of Tom’s death, and a 
sudden death besides, but he made an eifort to for- 
get it for the time, and asked for Mrs. Dwyer and 
the children. 

“ Oh I they’re all well — very -well, indeed,” said 
Andy ; “ the children are all out on an exploring 
expedition with the young Bergens, and I believe 
Alice is gone with Mrs. Bergen to visit her dairy. 
Altered timesThese with all of you, Cornelius I” 

“ Altered, indeed !” said Con, still speaking in an 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 379 

abstracted tone, for he had not yet got over his 
bewilderment ; “ but how did you all get here, and 
where’s the schoolmaster 

This last question was addressed to Paul, who 
thrust his hands in his pockets and laughed in Con’s 
face. “ Where would he be ?” said he, “ only in 
Andy Dwyer’s shoes there ? — don’t you think he’ll 
make as good a master as Dominick Shannon the 
best day ever he saw ? — eh now, Con ?” 

“ Why, to be sure he will,” said Con, cheerfully, 

for he knows far more than ever poor Shannon 
did. But, is it possible, Andy, that it was for you 
Father Doran sent ?” 

“ It is not only possible but true,” replied Andy, 
“ and I believe he kept the secret from you just to 
play a trick on you. He was ever and always fond 
of practical jokes, God bless his kind heart ! He 
sent for us all — every one — and you may be sure 
Alice and myself were nothing loath to avail our- 
selves of his goodness. So, if you’ll have me,” he 
added, with a smile, “I’m come to train up your 
rising generation *in the way they should go,’ as the 
Wise Man has it.” 

Another warm shake of the hand was Con’s an- 
swer, and just then the back door opening gave 
admission to Mrs. Dwyer and her happy hostess, 
the latter carrying a dish of thick cream. It is 
needless to say that Con and Mrs. Dwyer were 
mutually glad to meet again under such favorable 
auspices, and that joy was depicted on every face, 


380 


cox o’llEGAN ; OR, 


with the siugle exception of poor Peggy, on whose 
features an habitual melancholy had settled — a 
melancholy that nothing could disturb. But Nora 
was the kindest, the most attentive of friends, and 
her voice had a soothing influence on Peggy’s 
darkened soul. 

The sound of mirthful voices mingled with loud 
bursts of laughter speedily announced the arrival of 
the youngsters who burst in pell-mell, thinking of 
nothing in the world but their recent sport. The 
young Dwyers were somewhat abashed on seeing 
Con, but their timidity was of short duration, w^hen 
he began to talk to them of all the strange sights 
they had to see about their new home, and all the 
untried pleasures of wood and field. Andy looked 
on with a pleasant and happy smile, nodding occa- 
sionally at his wife, with an air that seemed to say : 
“ What a place this will be for us and the children !’* 
As his eye rested on Patsey Bergen, now a tall, mus- 
cular boy of ten or thereabouts, a grave smile sud- 
denly lighted up his features. 

“ Come here,” said he, “ Silas, or Jeff— why, then, 
what sort of a memory have I at all, that I can’t re- 
member that name of yours ? — what’s this it is, my 
little man ? — oh, now I think of it, you’re little Henry 
Clay — are you not ?” 

Paul was going to answer, but Andy made a sign 
to him to keep quiet. 

<‘No, no, cried Patsey,” eagerly, ^*my name is 
Patrick — Patsey, you know !” 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 381 

“ Why, then, I declare, so it is,” said Andy, “ how 
in the w^orld could I make such a mistake? But, 
then, after all, Patrick is such an ugly name.”. 

“Oh! no, Mr. Dwyer,” said Patsey, quickly; 

Patrick is a good name, and I like it now better 
than any other. I used to not like it, but that was 
long ago when I was a little fellow and didn’t know 
any better. The Yankee boys said it wasn’t a pretty 
name, but if I were there now. I’d tell them it was 
better than any of theirs. Why, Jeff and Wash and 
all such names that I used to think ever so nice, are 
only fit for dogs. But that’s true, Terry, you didn’t 
see my dog Pincher ?” 

Terry answered in the negative, whereupon the 
whole juvenile party trooped off again on a new 
ocent, leaving their seniors to comment at leisure on 
•what had just passed. 

“ Ah !” said Peggy Daly, suddenly breaking silence, 
after she had listened a while to the others, “ ah 1 if 
poor Tom had only come out here in time, or any- 
where else only where he did go, he might have been 
a livin’ man this day, and a prosperous man, loo. 
Och ! och ! but it was the black day for him an’ me 
when he settled down in that unfortunate place.” 

Con listened to the poor girl’s incoherent ravings 
with a heart full of tender sympathy, but he still 
wondered what had brought her away from her only 
relatives to a new and distant country. This ques- 
tion he put to Mrs. D wyer as he thought in a very 
cautious whisper, but it did not escape Peggy’s quick 


882 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

ear, and she replied with startling vehemence : “ Ta 
it me stay in that hateful place when Tom was gone*? 
— sure- all the good that was in me was mindin’ him^ 
and tryin’ to keep him out of harm’s way, for there 
was no one could do anything with him but me. 
An’ och! och! wasn’t he like a little child when I 
spoke to him, and God he knows I was hard on him 
at times — too hard, may be, but then it was all for 
his own good, an’ he knew that well. But at any 
rate, he’s dead — dead — and I wouldn’t stay in the 
place for a mint of money ! — what for would I ?” 

“But your sister, Peggy?’ said Con, hesitatingly, 
overawed by the strange vehemence of her manner. 

“And what of her?” she responded quickly; 
“what was she to me — or what was I to her? 
Anty has her husband and her children — she has no 
need of me — she never fell into my ways nor I into 
hers, sisters an’ all as w'e are ! I got more comfort 
Con O’Regan, from your own sister Winny, an’ 
from Mrs. Bergen, an’ Mrs. Dwyer here, than I ever 
got from Anty Brady, long as we weKe together, 
an’ that’s just the reason why I made my way out 
here, to live and die among you all. The Lord’s 
blessin’ be about Mr. Coulter, an’ his two sisters, 
it’s them I may thank for being where I am.” 

“Well! sure enough,” said Paul, wonder, 

Peg^y, where you got the means of cornin’ out here 
—I knew very well you hadn’t it of your own.” 

“Is it me?” cried Peggy, still in the same excited 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


883 


tone ; “ why,, I could never raise as much these 
years past as would buy me a new dress.” 

“An’ did they give you enough to bring you?’* 
asked Con, his head full of the Coulter family. 

“ If they didn’t,” said Peggy, “ they gave a good 
share of it between the three of them, an’ the rest 
they made up among their friends. An’ what do 
you think but Mr. Coulter wanted me to go to some 
great eye doctor that he knew, an’ have him exa- 
mine my eyes, an’ that he’d pay any expense there 
might be, if there was an operation, but I wouldn’t 
hear to him. If Tom had lived I would, with all 
the veins of my heart, but when he was gone I 
didn’t care. I’m just as well as I am, an’ better, 
too, for I can see no one but him, an’ I have him 
always before me. But, sure, sure, amn’t I the fool 
ish creature to be talkin’ so much about myself. 
How is Winny, Con, and your wife and children— 
now that I mind to ask for them — an’, indeed, it’s 
not always that I have my wits about me.” 

“ They’re all well, Peggy, thanks be to God, well 
and happy. I’m sure they’ll be overjoyed to see 
you all, an’ especially Winny. I must hurry off 
home an’ let them know, I declare it’s like a dream 
to myself yet. I can hardly b’iieve it.” 

“ Well! I’m sure,” said Paul Bergen, “you’re not 
any more surprised than I was when I saw who was 
waitin’ for us in Dubuque. If the earth opened be* 
fore my eyes I couldn’t have been more astonished 


384 cox o’regan ; or, 

Wasn’t it the fine trick Father Doran played on na 
all?” 

“Wasn’t it now?” said Con, as he stood up to 
go, “an’ I wish you’d just seen the smile he had on 
him when I was cornin’ past, an’ him tellin’ rae to 
hurry on till I'd see Dominick Shannon.” 

“ Dominick Shannon !” repeated Andy in sur- 
prise, whereupon Con told Paul to give an account 
of Biddy’s supposition, and how it had got to the 
priest’s ears, “ for,” said he, “ I think every minute 
an hour till I get home with the news.” 

“ And mind,” said Nora, following him to the 
door, “mind and bring them all back with you just 
as soon as ever they can get ready. Felix and 
Judy will be over, an’ please God we’ll have a plea- 
sant evening of it. Make haste now, an’ don’t let 
the grass grow under your feet.” 

Great as Con’s hurry was he could not pass the 
priest’s house without letting Father Doran know 
how grateful they all were to him for restoring a 
valued friend to their midst, while providing for 
the instruction of their children. Unfortunately 
the priest was not in. He had gone out on a sick 
call. 

There was nothing for it, then, but to hasten 
home, and when Con reached there he was assailed 
with a shower of questions touching the new mas- 
ter, to all of which he gave evasive answers, and 
kept on as grave a face as possible. 

“Put away that wheel, Biddy dear,” said he “and 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


389 


you, Winny, leave by your sewing. Get yourselves 
and the children ready as fast as you can, for Mrs. 
Bergen wants us all over.” 

The women demurred at these peremptory orders, 
and would have insisted on knowing why it was that 
Nora wanted them so badly. 

“ If it’s the old master that’s in it,” observed 
Biddy, “ I’ll be glad to see him sure enough, but 
then there’s no need for making such a fuss. He s 
no great hand at fussin’ himself, unless he's greaily 
changed. Is it him. Con, or is it not ?” 

“ I told you before that you’ll be nothing the wiser 
for me,” said Con, laughingly; “unless you go your- 
selves you’ll just stay in the dark as you are now.” 

“ Well !” said Winny, as she rose and put by her 
work, “ I think we may as well give in, Biddy. Get 
up, astore machree^ and let us get on our things. W e 
have the milk strained up, and the cream in the 
churn ready for the morning, so there’s nothing to 
keep us from going. I see by Con’s eye that there’s 
something in it past the common. Come now, do 
you dress Micky and I’ll take Winny in hands.” 

Biddy was, at bottom, quite willing to be per- 
suaded, for she dearly loved a little company, and 
her curiosity was a strong incentive on this particu- 
lar occasion. The wheel, then, was cheerily laid 
aside, and in a very short time the little party sallied 
forth. Con carrying the youngest child in his arms. 

Great was the surprise and greater the joy of 
Winny, when, on entering Paul Bergen’s, she found 


186 


CON o’kegan ; OR, 


herself encircled by the slender arms of Peggy Daly, 
who, apprized of her near approach, had stationed 
herself just inside the door for that purpose. Mrs. 
Dwyer was the next to press forward to claim Win- 
ny’s welcome, her eyes full of joyful tears, and her 
comely face all in a glow. Lastly came Andy, with 
hand outstretched, and a friendly greeting on his 
lips, ending with “ how wonderful are the ways of 
God, Winny !” and by the time Winny had returned 
his warm shake hands, she was completely bewil- 
dered. Looking from one to the other, she stood 
the picture of blank amazement, while all the others, 
with the exception of Biddy and Peggy, indulged in 
a hearty laugh at her expense. Even Andy smiled, 
and condescended to perpetrate a joke by asking 
whether they still took him for Master Shannon, that 
they stood gaping at him so. As for Peggy, she 
clung to Winny’s arm, whispering in her softest ac- 
cents : “ Don’t you know me, Winny ? — aren’t you 
glad to see me again? — I’m sure i’d be glad if I 
could only see you as you see rm?'‘ 

“ And I am glad, dear,” said Winny, at length, 
fondly returning the gentle creature’s caress ; I am 
glad to see you, and you’re welcome a thousand 
times. But sure I thought at first it was all a dream. 
I can’t get it into my head, at all, that youh'Q here, 
Peggy, and Andy there, and Mrs. Dwyer. And the 
children — are they here, too ?” 

“Every soul of them,” said Mrs. Dwyer, laugh- 
ingly; “you’ll see them all, by and by. We’re the 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


387 


tenants for that nice little school-house that Paul 
showed us as w'e came along.” 

“Well!” said Biddy O’Regan, “after all Im not 
sorry that it isn’t old Shannon we have. Fathei 
Doran knew well enough what he was about.” 

“ But, tell me this, Andy,” said Con, “ how dia 
you and Father Doran come acquainted? — I know 
you are not from the same place at home, nor even 
from the same county.” 

“I’ll just tell you, then,” said Andy; “it was 
when I was working on the railroad that Father 
Doran, long life to him I came collecting among us 
laborers for a church he was building about twenty 
miles from there. So he began to chat with myself 
about one thing and another, and he was pleased to 
say that it wasn’t there I should be, if right took 
place. He came back again and said Mass for us 
one Sunday, and he promised me that day that he’d 
keep me in mind if he ever saw an opening for me 
You see he has kept his promise, may the Lord 
reward him !” 

Felix Bergen and Judy now coming in, the cere- 
mony of introduction had to be gone through, Andy 
putting on the full measure of dignity becoming his 
new office. With a grave and very low bow he 
“ thanked Mr. Felix Bergen and his good lady for 
their very cordial welcome, and hoped he would 
have the pleasure of instructing their little ones in 
the various branches of a polite education.” 

This raised a general laugh at the expense of Fe 


338 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


lix and Judy, who blushed a little at first, but very 
soon joined in with the others and laughed good- 
humoredly. Andy looked from one to the other in 
surprise, but Paul soon explained the matter to his 
satisfaction, by telling him that Felix had “neither 
chick nor child” but himself and his better half. 

Meanwhile Winny and Peggy had retired to a 
corner, where the story of poor Tom Derragh’s 
death was poured into Winny’s attentive ear, as mi- 
nutely and distinctly as Peggy’s strong emotion 
would permit. He had fallen, it seemed, into the 
lower hold of a vessel, and his head coming in con- 
tact with a bar of iron, the skull was so severely 
fractured that he lived but a few hours, and that in 
a state of utter insensibility. “ Even me,” said 
Peggy, in a choking voice, “ even me he didn’t know. 
He was carried to his boardin’-house — an', och ! but 
that was the unlucky house to him — an’ we were all 
sent for. The priest an’ the doctor were there, too, 
but what could they do for him ? The doctor probed 
the wound, they told me, an’ shook his head an’ said 
it was a bad business, an’ as for the priest, why he 
could do nothing at all only say a prayer for Tom, 
for the poor fellow had no more sense in him than a 
log. An’ that’s the way he died, Winny — that’s the 
way he died. Oh ! may the- Lord forgive him his 
sins, for sure, sure, he wasn’t bad of himself, only 
the company he fell in with, an’ the cursed way of 
livin’ they all had.” Here a burst of tears came to 
Peggy’s relief, and Winny could not offer a word of 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


389 


consolation, she oould only press the mourner’g 
hand and smooth down the fair hair over her snowy 
forehead. 

After a while, when Winny thought she had in- 
dulged this silent sorrow long enough, she suddenly 
asked Peggy how she had left their friend Letty, 
and whether she was still with the Misses Coulter. 
On hearing this, Peggy hastily dried her tears, and 
said with something approaching to a smile : 

“ Why, then, to be sure, she is ! how could they 
get along without her, or how without them ? They 
say she’s a’most mad with religion of late, but Pm 
sure I found her a kind, good friend, if she was as 
mad again. What do you think, Winny dear, but 
she gave me five dollars to help to pay my way out 
here. She did, indeed, Winny, and a good Coburg 
dress, besides. The Lord’s blessin’ be about her ! 
I’ll pray for her every day I rise, that she may be 
brought to see the truth.” 

“Poor Letty !” said Winny, with a heavy sigh; 
“ poor Letty !” it makes my heart sore every time I 
think of the state she’s in, and knowing what she 
ought to be, too. Oh ! if the Lord would only hear 
our prayers for her, and the dear good ladies that 
she lives with, and Mr. Coulter — if they were all in 
the safe way, I’d be content to die this very hour. 
My heart is full of gratitude to them, and while I 
live. I’ll never forget them, day or night. But that’s 
true, Peggy dear 1 where are you going to stay ?” 

“ Well ! myself doesn’t right know,” replied Peg* 


890 


CON o’regan ; OR, 

gy, with some embarrassment ; “ if I thought I had 
any chance of bein’ near you I’d be easy in my mind, 
for, to tell you the truth, it was to you an’ Mrs. Paul 
Bergen I came, an’ sure her family is large enough 
already.” 

“ Well, never mind, Peggy astorCs'' said Winny, 
softly, “ I’ll tell you a little secret that’ll make your 
mind easy, as you say yourself.” Whatever Winny 
whispered into Peggy’s ear, it must have been of a 
pleasant nature, for it brought a warm glow and a 
bright smile to the face of the blind girl. The 
whisper did not escape the watchful eyes of friends 
and relatives, and its purport was evidently sus- 
pected, for many a shrug and wink was exchanged 
on the head of it. 

Just then Winny was summoned to assist Mrs. 
Bergen in her culinary avocations, and while she 
was engaged in arranging the table for the evening 
meal, an important addition was made to the party 
in the person of Father Doran, who came to wel- 
come his old acquaintance, and to congratulate him 
and his family on their safe arrival. 

“ And to tell you the truth,” said the good priest 
as he took possession of the seat of honor, namely, 
a high-backed rush-bottomed chair, “ to tell the 
truth I had a more selfish motive in coming, for I 
know you all feel happy, and I wish to have a share 
in your happiness. It does an old man like me a 
world of good to see happy faces round him.” 

“ Ah ! the Lord bless your reverence,” said Felix 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 391 

Bergen : “ sure it’s all along your own doing. Yon 
tricked these people finely !” 

“ Well, yes, I rather think I did,’' said the priest, 
with one of his merriest laughs, for he evidently en* 
joyed the joke; ‘‘if to-day had been the first of 
April, my friend Con here would have felt rather 
small on seeing Andy — I beg pardon — I mean An- 
drew.” The new schoolmaster bowed and smiled 
graciously. “ I believe he had just as much expecta- 
tion of seeing the man in the moon, and, indeed, 
thought far more of seeing that venerable person- 
age, Master Shannon, peace to the good man, be he 
living or dead ! But, come here, Patsey, my boy, 
and bring your young friend with you. Sit down 
here both of you beside me till we have a talk.” 

The talk, however, was soon interrupted by Nora 
asking if his reverence wouldn’t sit over to the table 
and have a cup of tea. 

“ Most willingly, Mrs. Bergen,” and Father Doran 
advanced with a smile to the seat pointed out for 
him by the hostess. “ I see you have something for 
us more substantial than tea. Come along, Andrew, 
bring Mrs. Dwyer over to the table, till you try our 
Western cheer. Come, Felix, what are you about ?” 
Thus gracefully assuming a command which he well 
knew was most pleasing to his host and hostess, 
Father Doran set every one about him at ease, and 
the company were soon seated in due rotation. 

“ Well, Con,” said Mrs. Bergen as she handed him 
his first cup of tea, Paul having previously helped 


892 


CON o’regan ; OR, 


him to a good slice of cold roast mutton, “this is 
not like the first meal you had in our house. W o 
had neither roast nor boiled then, Con, except a 
dozen or so of soapy potatoes that we paid double 
^ and treble price for, and a few pounds of fried ham, 
half of it salt. Now thanks be to the Lord, we have 
our own fowl of every kind, our own pork and mut- 
ton, and in a little time, we’ll have our own beef, too. 
At times when I look round me, I can hardly think 
but w.hat it’s dreamiu’ I am. Felix ! won’t you give 
Mrs. l)wyer a wing of that chicken and a bit of the 
breast with it ! And Mrs. O’Regan and Winny 
here — why, bless my soul! Paul, what are you 
thinkin’ of? Here’s Peggy hasn’t a thing on her 
plate yet.” 

“ But will no one patronize me,” said Father 
Doran, who had a fine boiled ham before him ; “ I 
can recommend this ham, I assure you.” 

This was enough. The ham was duly tried, and 
all the Other good things in like manner, and the 
meal went on briskly and merrily, the presence of 
the priest, and his flow of ready wit, giving an ad- 
ditional charm to the whole. Every one was happy. 
Even Peggy Daly forgot her sorrows for the time, at 
least so far as to smile and maintain a cheerful coun- 
tenance. Father Doran and Andy Dwyer kept up a 
running fire of dry and humorous comment on the 
various little incidents which occurred, to the great 
entertainment of the admiring company. 

“ If Mr. Coulter and the ladies could only see us 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 393 

all novvP said Con in an under tone to Winny, who 
sat next him. 

“ Ah ! that would be too mu^h pleasure,” said 
Winny, with a sigh ; “ I suppose we’ll hardly ever 
see one of them again. The poor old master ! How 
he would enjoy this sight — he’s so full of good 
nature, and likes so much to see people happy and 
contented.” 

“ Ah ! you speak of Thady Landrigan, Winny ?” 
said the priest, with a sly glance at Mrs. Bergen ; 
“indeed I wish he was here. Some of us would 
feel all the better, I have no doubt.” 

Winny hastened to explain, her face all crimsoned 
over, but Father Doran stopped her short with, 
“Don’t be ashamed, Winny, don’t be ashamed. 
Thady’s a very good young man, and we should all 
be glad to see him — of course we should. How* 
ever, there’s a good time coming!” 

Winny’s blushes and her efforts to justify herself 
only added to the mirth of the company, and Felix 
Bergen “ put the cap on it,” as Paul said, by hoping 
that they’d all meet again before long at Thady’s 
wedding. “We’ll not say who the bride is to be,” 
added Felix; “Winny there could tell us if she 
liked, but a secret’s a secret, and it wouldn’t be fair 
to ask her to break trust.’* 

“Well! well!” said Father Doran, who saw that 
Winny’s embarrassment became really painful ; 
“well! well! let us talk of something else — wed- 
dings are all ^ery well in their own place, but we 


394 


CON O’rEGAN ; OR, 


have other fiish to fry just now. I suppose, An. 
drew, you’ll be for taking possession of your new 
tenement and your new office without loss of time.” 

“Well! if it was pleasing to you, sir, I would. 
Time, your reverence, is the poor man’s wealth, 
and every minute of it is worth gold.” 

“Very true, Andrew, very true, so, in the name 
of God, you may go in to-morrow. As for furni- 
ture, you must only do the best you can for a while, 
till you’re able to get it. I hear you have your 
bedding with you, Mrs. Dwyer.” 

Mrs. Dwyer replied in the affirmative, and then 
each housekeeper present offered a loan of some ar- 
ticle of furniture “ until such time as they got their 
own.” Andy and his wife were profuse in their 
thanks, and this great point settled, the conversation 
turned on other matters, and the evening wore 
away almost insensibly till Father Doran, looking 
at his watch, announced that it was nine o’clock. 
He then took his leave, and the rest of the company 
soon followed his example, Winny taking Peggy 
home with her, while the Dwyer family were di- 
vided between the houses of the two Bergens for 
that night. 

Next day was a busy, bustling day in the settle- 
ment. Andy Dw^yer and his family were taken in 
procession, as it were, to the small but pretty house 
prepared for their reception contiguous to the 
schoolhouse. Great was the joy of the worthy 
couple when they were shown the piece of ground 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 395 

attached to the house, and warm was their grati- 
tude when they found that the neighbors had al- 
ready furnished the dwelling with all the most ne- 
cessary articles of furniture, some cooking utensils, 
<fcc., nor were provisions wanting, for they found a 
store of various kinds which might serve with care- 
ful management for months to come. 


CONCLUSION^. 

Now that we have seen our friend Con O'Regan 
comfortably settled with his family in a thriving 
township of fair Iowa, with Paul Bergen for his 
next neighbor, we have only to sum up the fortunes 
of our other charaoters in as short a space as may 
be, fearing that our readers may think they have 
followed them quite far enough. 

We have seen Andy Dwyer and his good wife 
put in possession of their new house, and on the fol- 
lowing Monday morning the boys of the settlement, 
to the number of fifty or thereabouts, might be seen 
trooping from every direction towards the school- 
house as a common centre. Nor were they, as 
Shakspeare has it, 

“ Creeping like snail unwillingly to school,” 

for the charm of novelty gave zest to their morning 
journey, and, moreov^, the new master was in 
good repute amongst them, for his fame had already 
gone abroad as a man who was “ not a bit cross.” 


896 


CON o’kegan ; OR, 


So the boys all gathered into the schoolhouse with 
eager, hopeful hearts, and were delighted to see a 
nice picture of the Blessed Virgin over the master’s 
seat, with a smaller one of St. Patrick for a vis-a-vis 
on the opposite side of the room. Then the master 
was so kind, and cracked so many sly jokes in his 
own peculiar way, that the actual business of the 
school lost much of its dullness, and the hours of 
study passed away almost as quickly as any other. 
For that day, at least, the boys were well contented, 
and so was their worthy teacher, who relished his 
new occupation much better than the hard manual 
labor at which he had for years eked out a support 
for his family. And in the mornings and evenings, 
before and after school, Andy and his boys worked 
on the farm with the occasional assistance of the 
neighbors, who gave “ the master” odd “ duty days” 
now and then in gratitude for his assiduous atten- 
tion to the mental and moral culture of their chil- 
dren. And many a pleasant discussion Andy had 
the honor of carrying on with Father Doran, to 
whom his society was an invaluable acquisition. 
Andy’s house was not more than a stone’s throw 
from the priest’s, and when any little difficulty arose 
in the course of his official duties, he was sure to 
find an experienced counsellor in Father Doran, 
who, himself, visited the school almost every day. 
Amongst, the most distinguished of the boys was 
Terry Dwyer, and next to* him came, in due time, 
Patsey Bergen. Both these boys had good natural 


EMIGHANT LIFE IN THE NEW WOELD. 


397 


talents, and between Andy and the priest they lacked 
not the necessary cultivation. Terry was something 
of a wag in his way, and when he wanted to have 
a little fun he would slyly remind Patsey of his 
former project of running away from father and 
mother to avoid going out West amongst Irishmen 
and buffaloes. Patsey’s temper had improved con- 
siderably, so that in general this good natured rail- 
lery only made him laugh and blush, but at times 
it happened that Terry went a little too far, and 
then Patsey’s patience would suddenly give way, 
and some angry words would escape him, for which 
he would afterwards apologize. But to say the 
truth of Patsey and his brother Jim, they grew up 
as good sons as Terry himself, or his brothers, Dan 
and Willy, and that is as much as need be said in 
their praise, for the young Dwyers were held up as 
examples all the country round. As for Janie, she 
had been always of a quiet, docile disposition, fond 
of staying at home and helping her mother, so that 
in her no reformation was needed. 

For some weeks after the arrival of the Dwyers, 
Peggy Daly remained an inmate of Con O’Kegan’s 
cottage, and many an hour, tranquil at least if not 
happy, did the blind girl spend sitting on the green 
sunny bank under the maple trees at the end of the 
little garden. There she sat evening after evening 
knitting stockings, first for the household, and then 
for all the neighbors round, who soon learned to 
take a friendly interest in Peggy, as well from her 


398 


CON o’bEGAN; or 


melaiiclioly story, as from her own endearing traits 
of character. As often as Winny could manage it 
so, she would take out her work and sit with Peggy 
in her calm retreat, the children playing around 
them. Biddy had neither taste nor time, as she 
used to say, for sewing ; she preferred leaving that 
to Winny while she attended to the work of the 
house and the d ;iry, the rearing of poultry, calves, 
lambs, etc. This was Biddy’s element, and in it she 
was happy. 

It so happened that, after a few weeks, there was 
another joyous bustle amongst our circle of friends 
and neighbors. Con O’ Regan’s house was the scene 
of great festivity, for Winny became the wife of 
Thady Landrigan, and the wedding was of course 
held there, and a great wedding it was, too, and the 
neighbors flocked from far and near on Con’s invi- 
tation, for Con was resolved that Winny should be 
married off with all the festive honors of their race. 
The two Mrs. Bergens and good Mrs. Landrigan 
gave the benefit of their practical experience on the 
occasion, together with various et ceteras in the 
shape of home made dainties for the greater adorn- 
ment of the festive board. And Winny was the 
modestest and prettiest of brides, with her mild 
eyes bashfully cast down, and her delicate features 
shadowed by a thoughtful, subdued expression. 
As for Thady he was all gaiety and good humor. 
No cloud obscured his happiness, no anxious 
thoughts threw their gloom athwart the sunshine 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 399 

of the hour. It was seldom indeed that Thady did 
think, and that day he thought less than ever. 
Care and he might be married any day, as he used 
to say himself, for there wasn’t a drop’s blood be- 
tween them. 

Nora Bergen was one of the happiest of the ]3arty 
that day, for she loved Winny as a dear younger 
sister, and she knew that Thady Landrigan was 
“ just the boy to make her a good husband !” And 
Con O’Kegan listened, and smiled, and said noth- 
ing. He rejoiced, it is true, in the prospect of 
Winny ’s happiness, but still he knew that she was 
about to leave his home for one of her own, and 
with her a portion of the sunshine was sure to van- 
ish from his cottage door. Their lot had been so 
long bound up together, that poor Con could not 
behold their approaching separation without a pang. 
Still he had no wish to prevent the match, for he 
knew Thady was likely to make Winny happy, and, 
“ of course,” said he, “ it’s what must come some 
day.” 

When Winny went to her new home she took 
Peggy Daly with her, having first consulted her 
mother-in-law on the subject, and obtained her full 
and cordial consent. Mrs. Landrigan was none of 
your cranky, querulous old women. She had car- 
ried on into old age much of that careless, happy 
temperament, which had been hers through early 
and meridian life, and which her son inherited from 
her to his own great comfort and advantage. 


400 


CON o’regan; ok 


The good old woman had from the first taken ' 
quite a fancy to Peggy, and was, therefore, well 
pleased at the prospect of having her a resident in 
the family. Thus, then, was poor Peggy provided 
with a permanent and a comfortable home, and in 
the constant society of Winny she might have been 
happy, could she have forgotten the wretched fate 
of him who had for so many years formed the sole 
object of her care. Many and many a little peni- 
tential work did Peggy perform, for the benefit of 
his soul, unknown to all the world, as she thought, 
though Winny was not without seeing and suspect- 
ing what was going on. Not a year passed over 
Peggy’s head without her having a certain number 
of masses offered up for the repose of Tom’s soul, 
and when Father Doran would object to taking her 
little offering, saying that he would do what she 
wanted, without her depriving herself of her little 
earnings, “ Oh !” she would say, with a touching 
smile, “ that’s the only thing I have to do with my 
earnings. Father Doran, and it’s the only comfort I 
have, too, so you’ll not refuse to take it, your reve- 
rence.” Of course, it was impossible to refuse, so 
the good priest had only to give in, and promise to 
say the Mass as soon as possible. At times Peggy 
would go and spend a week, or perhaps two, at 
Paul Bergen’s, to help Nora and Jenny with their 
winter’s or summer’s knitting, and Peggy’s visits 
were always festive occasions to Nora and the 
children. Once in a while, too, she had to pay Mrs. 


EMIQEA.NT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 401 


Felix a visit, and then Biddy O’Eegan would pre- 
tend to be jealous, so that Peggy had to spend some 
days with her before she went home again, in order 
to pacify her. 

After Father Doran himself, Andy Dwyer was 
the greatest man in the settlement for years and 
years. His house was the emporium of news, as 
his school was of knowledge. Every Sunday after 
Mass, and again in the evening, the neighbors 
gathered in from far and near to hear the papers 
read, and Andy was a proud and happy man when 
dealing out the news of the day to an admiring au- 
dience, with notes and comments of his own. Then 
Andy had letters to write, read, and answer for all 
those who were “ no scholars ” themselves, and that 
was another very important part of his functions. 
And though there was a tacit understanding be- 
tween him and his clients, that they were never to 
offer him payment for any such little services, yet 
we have good reason to know, indeed on the author- 
ity of Mrs. Dwyer herself, that Andy was paid 
over and over again in presents of one kind or 
another. Such, then, was the even tenor of Andy’s 
way in the prairies of the far West. 

And Con O’Regan was as happy and contented 
as man can be here below. It is true he had to 
work hard at times, and at certain seasons early 
and late, but what of that when his labor went to 
improve his own land and to bring in golden crops 
for the benefit of himself and his family. Sur- 


402 


CON o’began; or 


rounded by friends and neighbors, with Winny 
happily settled within an hour’s walk of his own 
dwelling, Con might well be happy, for he lived in 
an atmosphere of peace and purity where nothing 
was strange or uncongenial, but all was home-like 
and natural. 

About a year after the receipt of Mr. Coulter’s 
last letter, when Con remitted the final instalment 
of the Misses Coulters’ loan, he received for answer, 
after the lapse of some few weeks, a few cold lines 
from Mrs. Coulter stating that her husband had 
died of apoplexy just two months before, and that 
she had sent the draft to Miss Coulter. Not a trace 
of emotion was visible either in the stiff regularity 
of the writing, or in the cold formality of the brief, 
business-like epistle, and yet the letter threw a 
gloom over the sunshine of Con’s and Winny’s life 
for many a day to come. They knew and felt the 
value of the heart whose warm pulses were stopped 
forever, and the sorrow which the widow should 
have felt, but did not, they felt indeed. Many a 
bitter tear did Winny shed for the loss of her gen- 
erous benefactor, and her heart was filled with 
anguish as she thought of how little preparation he 
had ever made for that dread eternity in which he 
was now engulfed. Con sympathized fully and 
sincerely in his sister’s feelings, and they both felt 
indignant at the calm indifference wherewith Mrs. 
Coulter communicated such doleful news. 

But another letter which Con soon after received 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD. 


403 


changed the whole current of his and Winny’s 
thoughts. This last was from Idiss Debby Coulter, 
acknowledging the receipt of the last instalment of 
the loan, and acquainting Con with the death of 
her brother. Miss Debby’s letter was short, but it 
breathed the very soul of sorrow, and said that 
neither the writer nor her sister had ever recovered 
the shock of her brother’s death. But what most 
interested Con was the information contained in the 
postscript. “It is said,” wrote Miss Debby, “ that 
Mrs. Coulter is about to take a second husband in 
the person of Dr. Kichards, whose wife died last 
year. In fact, the affair is all settled, but the mar- 
riage is not to take place till the end of a year after 
poor Sammy’s death. Well ! let her marry who she 
pleases. It is nothing to us; we will never eX’ 
change words with her again.” 

“Hurrah !” cried Con, as he rushed breathless 
into Winny’s kitchen, a few hours after receiving 
the letter ; “ hurrah ! — I’ve good news for you, 
Winny !” 

“Ah then, what on earth is it?” said Winny, lay- 
ing down the iron which she had been using. 

“ You’d never guess,” said Con, “ so I may as 
well tell you : Mrs. Coulter and Dr. Kichards are 
going to make a match of it. The doctor’s wife 
died last year, it seems. Isn’t that glorious? I 
•wish them luck of all the happiness they’ll have to- 
gether ! — I do from my heart out — bit’ll be a fine 
cat-and-dog life they’ll have of it, Winny; won’t it? 


404 


CON o’regan; or 


The old madam will give him the worth of his vil 
lainy to you, I’ll go bail, and if he don’t revenge 
the poor dear master on her, my name’s not Con 
O’ Regan.” 

“Well! sure enough,” said Winny, drawing a 
long sigh, “ sure enough things come round mighty 
queer, but, as you say. Con, they’re a fine match for 
each other, and I think neither was ever matched 
before, for they say Mrs. Richards was a very good 
sort of a woman in her way, and we all know what 
poor Mr. Coulter was. However, I wish neither of 
them any ill, and I hope they’ll be hapi^ier together 
than you or I expect. Thanks be to God, we’re out 
of their power, and have nothing to do with them 
or the like of them any more.” 

Peggy Daly soon after received a letter from her 
sister, informing her that Barney was worse than 
ever at the drink, so that her life was miserable. 
She had been always hoping that he would be en- 
couraged by the good accounts from their friends 
in the West to begin to save in order to go out 
there, but latterly she had given up all hope, and 
had resigned herself to the prospect of a life of 
wretchedness. Most of Barney’s earnings, she 
said, were spent in the grog-shop, so that at times 
she could hardly get enough to keep hfe in herself 
and the children. This was the last account Peggy 
had from her poor sister, who, it appeared, died in 
the course of the following year, whereupon the 
four children whom she left were taken from their 


EMIGRANT LIFE IN THE NEW WORLD, 


405 


wretched father by the city authorities, to be 
brought up according to their good liking as their 
own, undisputed property. 

Alas! how many Irish families in these great 
cities of the Eastern coast end just like Barney 
Brady’s? 


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Treatment Date: 



JAN 199 


iBBMAEEPEt 


° o’* /K-T 


PRESERVATION TECHNOLOGIES. IN 
111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Twp., PA 16066 
(412)779-2111 




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